UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


GIFT  OP' 


WILLIAM  OILMAN  THOMPSON. 


•* 


\ 


L 


POEMS, 


BY 


R.     W.     EMERSON 


BOSTON: 
T I O  K N  O  R     AND     FIELDS 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Consreas,  in  the  year  1847,  by 

JAMES  MONROB  AND  COMPANY, 
ID  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts 


CONTENTS 


.    FACE. 

THE     SPHINX,     ......................      7 

EACH     AND    ALL,      ..................    .    .   14 

*   THE     PROBLEM,     ......    .    ..............   17 

,-      TO     RIIEA,    ........................   21 

THE     VISIT,     .......................   25 

URIEL,  ..........................   27 

THE     WORLD-SOUL,     ...................   30 

ALPHONSO     OF     CASTILE,     ................    36 

MITHRIDATES,     ......................   41 

TO    j.    w.,  ..........  s-;  ............  43 

FATE,  ...........................   45 

GUY»   ...........................  43 

TACT,  ...........................   51 

HAMATREYA,  .......................   53 

EA.RTH-SONG,    ......    .""  .............   54 


GOOD-BYE 


57 


4  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

THE     RHODORA,  .....................      ^9 

THE     HUMBLE-BEE,  ...................      60 

64 


THE     SNOW-STORM,      ..................     65 

WOODNOTES,     I.,     ....................      67 

---    II.,  ....................    75 

MONADNOC,    .......................      94 

FABLE,     ............    .    ............   515 

ODE,      ..........................   117 

ASTRjEA,     ..........    .    .............   123 

ETIENNE     DE     LA    BOECE,      ...............   126 

SUUM     CUIQUE,     .....................   128 

—     COMPENSATION,  .....................  129 

FORBEARANCE,     .....................   130 

THE     PARK,    .......................   131 

FORERUNNERS,     ..........    .'  ..........   133 

SURSUM     CORDA,      ....................   135 

ODE     TO     BEAUTY,      ...................   136 

GIVE     ALL     TO     LOVE,     .................   141 

TO     ELLEN,  .......................   144 

TO     EVA,    ..........  ^  .............   147 


CONTENTS.  5 

PAGE. 

THE     AMULET,     ....................   148 

THINE     EYES     STILL     SHINED,     .............   149 

EROS,       ...............    ..........   150 

HERMIONE,  .......................   151 

INmAIt,     D^EMOlimy^AND    CELESTIAL    LOVE,     .....   156 
THE     APOLOGY,  .....................   173 


«•»    ......................  185 

..........  188 

LOSS    AND    GAIN,      ...................  jgg 

MEROPS,    ...................  ^   194 

THE     HOUSE,    ..................  ^   jQg 

SAADI,      .........................   1Q7 

HOLIDAYS,     .......................   20g 

PAINTING    AND     SCULPTURE,    .............   20g 

FROM     THE     PERSIAN     OF   HAFIZ,      ......  .  .  f  399 

GHASELLE,    ............    ......  2]7 

'     XENOPHANES,  ...............  219 

THE    DAY'S    RATION,     ...........  ^  221 

BLIGHT>  ...............  .  .........  223 

MUSKETAQUID,    ..............    ^ 


6  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

DIRGE, 232 

THRENODY, 236 

HYMN,    SUNG     AT    THE    COMPLETION    OF     THE    CONCORD 

MONUMENT,  .' 250 


11 


POEMS. 


THE    SPHINX 


THE  Sphinx  is  drowsy, 

Her  wings  are  furled; 
Her  ear  is  heavy, 

She  broods  on  the  world. 
"Who'll  tell  me  my  secret, 

The  ages  have  kept  ?  — 
1  awaited  the  seer, 

While  they  slumbered  and  slept; 

"  The  fate  of  the  man-child  ; 

The  meaning  of  man ; 
Known  fruit  of  the  unknown  ; 

Daedalian  plan; 

7 


8  THE    SPHINX. 

Out  of  sleeping  a  waking, 
Out  of  waking  a  sleep ; 

Life  death  overtaking; 
Deep  underneath  deep  1 

"  Erect  as  a  sunbeam, 

Upspringeth  the  palm; 
The  elephant  browses, 

Undaunted  and  calm ; 
In  beautiful  motion 

The  thrush  plies  his  wings 
Kind  leaves  of  his  covert, 

Your  silence  he  sings. 

"The  waves,  unashamed. 

In  difference  sweet, 
Play  glad  with  the  breezes, 

Old  playfellows  meet; 
The  journeying  atoms, 

Primordial  wholes, 
Firmly  draw,  firmly  drive, 

By  their  animate  poles. 


THE    SPHINX. 

"  Sea,  earth,  air,  sound,  silence, 

Plant,  quadruped,  bird, 
By  one  music  enchanted, 

One  deity  stirred, — 
Each  the  other  adorning, 

Accompany  still; 
Night  veileth  the  morning, 

The  vapor  the  hill. 

"  The  babe  by  its  mother 

Lies  bathed  in  joy ; 
Glide  its  hours  uncounted, — 

The  sun  is  its  toy; 
Shines  the  peace  of  all  being, 

Without  cloud,  in  its  eyes; 
And  the  sum  of  the  world 

In  soft  miniature  lies. 

"  But  man  crouches  and  blushes 
Absconds  and  conceals ; 

He  creepeth  and  peepeth, 
He  palters  and  steals ; 


THE    SPHINX. 

Infirm,  melancholy, 

Jealous  glancing  around, 
An  oaf,  an  accomplice, 

He  poisons  the  ground. 

"Out  spoke  the  great  mother, 

Beholding  his  fear  ;  — 
At  the  sound  of  her  accents 

Cold  shuddered  the  sphere  :  — 
'  Who  has  drugged  my  boy's  cup  ? 

Who  has  mixed  my  boy's  bread? 
Who,  with  sadness  and  madness, 

Has  turned  the  man-child's  head? 

I  heard  a  poet  answer, 

Aloud  and  cheerfully, 
"  Say  on,  sweet  Sphinx !  thy  dirges 

Are  pleasant  songs  to  me 
Deep  love  lieth  under 

These  pictures  of  time; 
They  fade  in  the  light  of 

Their  meaning  sublime. 


THE    SPHINX.  11 

"The  fiend  that  man  harries 

Is  love  of  the  Best ; 
Yawns  the  pit  of  the  Dragon, 

Lit  by  rays  from  the  Blest. 
The  Lethe  of  nature 

Can't  trance  him  again, 
Whose  soul  sees  the  perfect, 

Which  his  eyes  seek  in  vain. 

"  Profounder,  profounder, 

Man's  spirit  must  dive; 
To  his  aye-rolling  orbit 

No  goal  will  arrive; 
The  heavens  that  now  draw  him 

With  sweetness  untold, 
Once  found,  —  for  new  heavens 

He  spurneth  the  old. 

"Pride  ruined  the  angels, 

Their  shame  them  restores; 
And  the  joy  that  is  sweetest 

Lurks  in  stings  of  remorse. 


12  THE    SPHINX. 

Have  I  a  lover 

Who  is  noble  and  free  1  — 
I  would  he  were  nobler 

Than  to  love  me. 

"Eterne  alternation 

Now  follows,  now  flies ; 
And  under  pain,  pleasure, — 

Under  pleasure,  pain  lies. 
Love  works  at  the  centre, 

Heart-heaving  alway ; 
Forth  speed  the  strong  pulses 

To  the  borders  of  day. 

"Dull  Sphinx,  Jove  keep  thy  five  wits. 

Thy  sight  is  growing  blear; 
Rue,  myrrh,  and  cummin    for  the  Sphinx  — 

Her  muddy  eyes  to  clear  !  "  — 
The  old  Sphinx  bit  her  thick  lip, — 

Said,  "  Who  taught  thee  me  to  name  ? 
I  am  thy  spirit,  yoke-fellow, 

Of  thine  eye  I  am  eyebeam. 


THE    SPHINX.  13 

"  Thou  art  the  unanswered  question  ; 

Couldst  see  thy  proper  eye, 
Alway  it  asketh,  asketh ; 

And  each  answer  is  a  lie. 
So  take  thy  quest  through  nature, 

It  through  thousand  natures  ply  ; 
Ask  on,  thou  clothed  eternity  ; 

Time  is  the  false  reply." 

Uprose  the  merry  Sphinx, 

And  crouched  no  more  in  stone; 
She  melted  into  purple  cloud, 

She  silvered  in  the  moon  ; 
She  spired  into  a  yellow  flame; 

She  flowered  in  blossoms  red; 
She  flowed  into  a  foaming  wave; 

She  stood  Monadnoc's  head. 

Thorough  a  thousand  voices 

Spoke  the  universal  dame : 
"  Who  telleth  one  of  my  meanings, 

Is  master  of  all  I  am." 


14 


EACH    AND    ALL. 


LITTLE  thinks,  in  the  field,  yon  red-cloaked  clown, 
Of  thee  from  the  hill-top  looking  down ; 
The  heifer  that  lows  in  the  upland  farm, 
Far-heard,  lows  not  thine  ear  to  charm; 
The  sexton,  tolling  his  bell  at  noon, 
Deems  not  that  great  Napoleon 
Stops  his  horse,  and  lists  with  delight, 
Whilst  his  files  sweep  round  yon  Alpine  height; 
Nor  knowest  thou  what  argument 
Thy  life  to  thy  neighbor's  creed  has  lent. 
All  are  needed  by  each  one; 
Nothing  is  fair  or  good  alone. 
;I  thought  the  sparrow's  note  from  heaven, 
Singing  at  dawn  on  the  alder  bough; 
I  brought  him  home,  in  his  nest,  at  even; 
He  sings  the  song,  but  it  pleases  not  now, 


EACH    AND    ALL.  15 

For  I  did  not  bring  home  the  river  and  sky;  — 

He  sang  to  my  ear,  —  they  sang  to  my  eye. 
-vV 
The  delicate  shells  lay  on  the  shore; 

The  bubbles  of  the  latest  wave 

Fresh  pearls  to  their  enamel  gave; 

And  the  bellowing  of  the  savage  sea 

Greeted  their  safe  escape  to  me. 

I  wiped  away  the  weeds  and  foam, 

I  fetched  my  sea-born  treasures  home; 

But  the  poor,  unsightly,  noisome  things 

Had  left  their  beauty  on  the  shore, 

With  the  sun,  and  the  sand,  and  the  wild  uproar. 
^The  lover  watched  his  graceful  maid, 
^  As  'mid  the  virgin  train  she  strayed, 

Nor  knew  her  beauty's  best  attire 

Was  woven  still  by  the  snow-white  choir. 

At  last  she  came  to  his  hermitage, 

Like  the  bird  from  the  woodlands  to  the 

The  gay  enchantment  was  undone, 

A  gentle  wife,  but  fairy  none. 

/Then  I  said,  'I  covet  truth; 
i 
Beauty  is  unripe  childhood's  cheat; 


10  EACH   AND   ALL. 

I  leave  it  behind  with  the  games  of  youth.' 

As  I  spoke,  beneath  my  feet 

The  ground-pine  curled  its  pretty  wreath, 

Running  over  the  club-moss  burrs ; 

I  inhaled  the  violet's  breath; 

Around  me  stood  the  oaks  and  firs; 

Pine-cones  and  acorns  lay  on  the  ground; 

Over  me  soared  the  eternal  sky, 

Full  of  light  and  of  deity  ; 

Again  I  saw,  again  I  heard, 

The  rolling  river,  the  morning  bird ;  — 

Beauty  through  my  senses  stole ; 

I  yielded  myself  to  the  perfect  whole. 


17 


THE   PROBLEM. 


I  LIKE  a  church ;  I  like  a  cowl ; 

I  love  a  prophet  of  the  soul ; 

And  on  my  heart  monastic  aisles 

Fall  like  sweet  strains,  or  pensive  smiles; 

Yet  not  for  all  his  faith  can  see 

Would  I  that  cowled  churchman  be. 

Why  should  the  vest  on  him  allure, 
Which  I  could  not  on  me  endure? 

Not  from  a  vain  or  shallow  thought 
His  awful  Jove  young  Phidias  brought ; 
Never  from  lips  of  cunning  fell 
The  thrilling  Delphic  oracle; 
Out  from  the  heart  of  nature  rolled 
The  burdens  of  the  Bible  old ; 
2 


18  THE    PROBLEM 

The  litanies  of  nations  came, 
Like  the  volcano's  tongue  of  flame, 
Up  from  the  burning  core  below, — 
The  canticles  of  love  and  woe ; 
The  hand  that  rounded  Peter's  dome, 
And  groined  the  aisles  of  Christian  Rome, 
Wrought  in  a  sad  sincerity  ; 
Himself  from  God  he  could  not  free ; 
He  builded  better  than  he  knew;  — 
The  conscious  stone"  to  beauty  grew. 

Know'st  thou  what  wove  yon  woodbird's  nest 
Of  leaves,  and  feathers  from  her  breast  ? 
Or  how  the  fish  outbuilt  her  shell, 
Painting  with  morn  each  annual  cell? 
Or  how  the  sacred  pine-tree  adds 
To  her  old  leaves  new  myriads? 
Such  and  so  grew  these  holy  piles, 
Whilst  love  and  terror  laid  the  tiles. 
Earth  proudly  wears  the  Parthenon, 
As  the  best  gem  upon  her  zone; 


T*IE    PROBLEM.  19 

And  Morning  opes  with  haste  her  lids, 
To  gaze  upon  the  Pyramids ; 
O'er  England's  abbeys  bends  the  sky, 
As  on  its  friends,  with  kindred  eye ; 
For,  out  of  Thought's  interior  sphere, 
These  wonders  rose  to  upper  air ; 
And  Nature  gladly  gave  them  place, 
Adopted  them  into  her  race, 
And  granted  them  an  equal  date 
With  Andes  and  with  Ararat. 

These  temples  grew  as  grows  the  grass; 

Art  might  obey,  but  not  surpass. 

The  passive  Master  lent  his  hand 

To  the  vast  soul  that  o'er  him  planned; 

And  the  same  power  that  reared  the  shrine, 

Bestrode  the  tribes  that  inelt  within. 

Ever  the  fiery  Pentecost 

Girds  with  one  flame  the  countless  host, 

Trances  the  heart  through  chanting  choirs, 

And  through  the  priest  the  mind  inspires. 


20  THE    PROBLEM. 

The  word  unto  the  prophet  spoken 
Was  writ  on  tables  yet  unbroken ; 
The  word  by  seers  or  sibyls  told, 
In  groves  of  oak,  or  fanes  of  gold, 
Still  floats  upon  the  morning  wind, 
Still  whispers  to  the  willing  mind. 
One  accent  of  the  Holy  Ghost 
The  heedless  world  hath  never  lost. 
I  know  what  say  the  fathers  wise, — 
The  Book  itself  before  me  lies, 
Old  Chrysostom,  best  Augustine, 
And  he  who  blent  both  in  his  line, 
The  younger  Golden  Lips  or  mines, 
Taylor,  the  Shakspeare  of  divines. 
His  words  are  music  in  my  ear, 
I  see  his  cowled  portrait  dear; 
And  yet,  for  all  his  faith  could  see, 
I  would  not  the  good  bishop  be. 


21 


TO    RHEA. 


THEE,  dear  friend,  a  brother  soothes, 

Not  with  flatteries,  but  truths, 

Which  tarnish  not,  but  purify 

To  light  which  dims  the  morning's  eye. 

I  have  come  from  the  spring-woods, 

From  the  fragrant  solitudes ;  — 

Listen  what  the  poplar-tree 

And  murmuring  waters  counselled  me. 

If  with  love  thy  heart  has  burned  ; 
If  thy  love  is  unreturned  ; 
Hide  thy  grief  within  thy  breast, 
Though  it  tear  thee  unexpressed; 
For  when  love  has  once  departed 
From  the  eyes  of  the  false-hearted, 


22  TO    RHEA. 

And  one  by  one  has  torn  off  quite 
The  bandages  of  purple  light ; 
Though  thou  wert  the  loveliest 
Form  the  soul  had  ever  dressed, 
Thou  shalt  seem,  in  each  reply, 
A  vixen  to  his  altered  eye; 
Thy  softest  pleadings  seem  too  bold, 
Thy  praying  lute  will  seem  to  scold  ; 
Though  thou  kept  the  straightest  road, 
Yet  thou  errest  far  and  broad. 

But  thou  shalt  do  as  do  the  gods 
In  their  cloudless  periods  ; 
For  of  this  lore  be  thou  sure,  — 
Though  thou  forget,  the  gods,  secure, 
Forget  never  their  command, 
But  make  the  statute  of  this  land. 
As  they  lead,  so  follow  all, 
Ever  have  done,  ever  shall. 
Warning  to  the  blind  and  deaf, 
'Tis  written  on  the  iron  leaf, 


TO    RHEA. 

Who  drinks  of  Cupid's  nectar  cup 

Loveth  downward,  and  not  up; 

Therefore,  who  loves,  of  gods  or  men, 

Shall  not  by  the  same  be  loved  again; 

His  sweetheart's  idolatry 

Falls,  in  turn,  a  new  degree. 

When  a  god  is  once  beguiled 

By  beauty  of  a  mortal  child, 

And  by  her  radiant  youth  delighted, 

He  is  not  fooled,  but  warily  knoweth 

His  love  shall  never  be  requited. 

And  thus  the  wise  Immortal  doeth.  — 

'Tis  his  study  and  delight 

To  bless  that  creature  day  and  night; 

From  all  evils  to  defend  her; 

In  her  lap  to  pour  all  splendor ; 

To  ransack  earth  for  riches  rare, 

And  fetch  her  stars  to  deck  her  hair  : 

He  mixes  music  with  her  thoughts, 

And  saddens  her  with  heavenly  doubts : 

All  grace,  all  good    his  great  heart  knows, 

Profuse  in  love,  the  king  bestows: 


24  TO    EIIEA. 

Saying,  'Hearken!  Earth,  Sea,  Air! 

This  monument  of  my  despair 

Build  I  to  the  All-Good,  All-Fair. 

Not  for  a  private  good, 

But  I,  from  my  beatitude, 

Albeit  scorned  as  none  was  scorned, 

Adorn  her  as  was  none  adorned. 

I  make  this  maiden  an  ensample 

To  Nature,  through  her  kingdoms  ample, 

Whereby  to  model  newer  races, 

Statelier  forms,  and  fairer  faces; 

To  carry  man  to  new  degrees 

Of  power,  and  of  comeliness. 

These  presents  be  the  hostages 

Which  I  pawn  for  my  release. 

See  to  thyself,  O  Universe ! 

Thou  art  better,  and  not  worse.'  — 

And  the  god,  having  given  all, 

Is  freed  forever  from  his  thrall. 


THE    VISIT. 


ASKEST,  '  How  long  thou  shalt  stay  1 ' 

Devastator  of  the  day  ! 

Know,  each  substance,  and  relation, 

Thorough  nature's  operation, 

Hath  its  unit,  bound,  and  metre ; 

And  every  new  compound 

Is  some  product  and  repeater, — 

Product  of  the  earlier  found. 

But  the  unit  of  the  visit, 

The  encounter  of  the  wise,  — 

Say,  what  other  metre  is  it 

Than  the  meeting  of  the  eyes'? 

Nature  poureth  into  nature 

Through  the  channels  of  that  feature. 

Riding  on  the  ray  of  sight, 

More  fleet  than  waves  or  whirlwinds  go, 


26  THE   VISIT. 

Or  for  service,  or  delight, 

Hearts  to  hearts  their  meaning  show, 

Sum  their  long  experience, 

And  import  intelligence. 

Single  look  has  drained  the  breast; 

Single  moment    years  confessed. 

The  duration  of  a  glance 

Is  the  term  of  convenance, 

And,  though  thy  rede  be  church  or  state, 

Frugal  multiples  of  that. 

Speeding  Saturn  cannot  halt ; 

Linger,  —  thou  shalt  rue  the  fault ; 

If  Love  his  moment  overstay, 

Hatred's  swift  repulsions  play. 


URIEL. 


IT  fell  in  the  ancient  periods 

Which  the  brooding  soul  surveys, 

Or  ever  the  wild  Time  coined  itself 
Into  calendar  months  and  days. 

This  was  the  lapse  of  Uriel, 

Which  in  Paradise  befell. 

Once,  among  the  Pleiads  walking, 

SAID  overheard  the  young  gods  talking; 

And  the  treason,  too  long  pent, 

To  his  ears  was  evident. 

The  young  deities  discussed 

Laws  of  form,  and  metre  just, 

Orb,  quintessence,  and  sunbeams, 

What  subsisteth,  and  what  seems. 


28  URIEL. 

One,  with  low  tones  that  decide, 

And  doubt  and  reverend  use  defied, 

With  a  look  that  solved  the  sphere, 

Arid  stirred  the  devils  everywhere, 

Gave  his  sentiment  divine 

Against  the  being  of  a  line. 

'  Line  in  nature  is  not  found  ; 

Unit  and  universe  are  round ; 

In  vain  produced,  all  rays  return ; 

Evil  will  bless,  and  ice  will  burn.' 

As  Uriel  spoke  with  piercing  eye, 

A  shudder  ran  around  the  sky  ; 

The  stern  old  war-gods  shook  their  heads ; 

The  seraphs  frowned  from  myrtle-beds ; 

Seemed  to  the  holy  festival 

The  rash  word  boded  ill  to  all ; 

The  balance-beam  of  Fate  was  bent ; 

The  bounds  of  good  and  ill  were  rent; 

Strong  Hades  could  not  keep  his  own, 

But  all  slid  to  confusion. 

A  sad  self-knowledge,  withering,  fell 
On  the  beauty  of  Uriel ; 


URIEL.  29 

In  heaven  once  eminent,  the  god 

Withdrew,  that  hour,  into  his  cloud; 

Whether  doomed  to  long  gyration 

In  the  sea  of  generation, 

Or  by  knowledge  grown  too  bright 

To  hit  the  nerve  of  feebler  sight. 

Straightway,  a  forgetting  wind 

Stole  over  the  celestial  kind, 

And  their  lips  the  secret  kept, 

If  in  ashes  the  fire-seed  slept. 

But  now  and  then,  truth-speaking  things 

Shamed  the  angels'  veiling  wings; 

And,  shrilling  from  the  solar  course, 

Or  from  fruit  of  chemic  force, 

Procession  of  a  soul  in  matter, 

Or  the  speeding  change  of  water, 

Or  out  of  the  good  of  evil  born. 

Came  Uriel's  voice  of  cherub  scorn, 

And  a  blush  tinged  the  upper  sky, 

And  the  gods  shook,  they  knew  not  why. 


30 


THE    WORLD-SOUL. 


THANKS  to  the  morning  light, 

Thanks  to  the  foaming  sea, 
To  the  uplands  of  New-Hampshire, 

To  the  green-haired  forest  free ; 
Thanks  to  each  man  of  courage, 

To  the  maids  of  holy  mind ; 
To  the  boy  with  his  games  undaunted, 

Who  never  looks  behind. 

Cities  of  proud  hotels, 

Houses  of  rich  and  great, 
Vice  nestles  in  your  chambers, 

Beneath  your  roofs  of  slate. 


THE   WORLD-SOUL.  31 

It  cannot  conquer  folly, 

Time-and-space-conquering  steam, 
And  the  light-outspeeding  telegraph 

Bears  nothing  on  its  beam. 

The  politics  are  base; 

The  letters  do  not  cheer; 
And  'tis  far  in  the  deeps  of  history, 

The  voice  that  speaketh  clear. 
Trade  and  the  streets  ensnare  us, 

Our  bodies  are  weak  and  worn ; 
We  plot  and  corrupt  each  other, 
And  we  despoil  the  unborn. 

Yet  there  in  the  parlor  sits 

Some  figure  of  noble  guise,  — 
Our  angel,  in  a  stranger's  form, 

Or  woman's  pleading  eyes ; 
Or  only  a  flashing  sunbeam 

In  at  the  window-pane ; 
Or  Music  pours  on  mortals 

Its  beautiful  disdain. 


32  THE    WORLD-SOUL. 

The  inevitable  morning 

Finds  them  who  in  cellars  be; 

And  be  sure  the  all-loving  Nature 
Will  smile  in  a  factory. 

Yon  ridge  of  purple  landscape, 
Yon  sky  between  the  walls, 

Hold  all  the  hidden  wonders, 
In  scanty  intervals. 

Alas  !  the  Sprite  that  haunts  us 

Deceives  our  rash  desire; 
It  whispers  of  the  glorious  gods, 

And  leaves  us  in  the  mire. 
We  cannot  learn  the  cipher 

That's  writ  upon  our  cell; 
Stars  help  us  by  a  mystery 

Which  we  could  never  spell. 

If  but  one  hero  knew  it, 

The  world  would  blush  in  flame; 
The  sage,  till  he  hit  the  secret, 

Would  hang  his  head  for  shame. 


THE    WORLD-SOUL. 

But  our  brothers  have  not  read  it, 
Not  one  has  found  the  key; 

And  henceforth  we  are  comforted,  — 
We  are  but  such  as  they. 

Still,  still  the  secret  presses; 

The  nearing  clouds  draw  down  ; 
The  crimson  morning  flames  into 

The  fopperies  of  the  town. 
Within,  without  the  idle  earth, 

Stars  weave  eternal  rings; 
The  sun  himself  shines  heartily, 

And  shares  the  joy  he  brings. 

And  what  if  Trade  sow  cities 

Like  shells  along  the  shore, 
And  thatch  with  towns  the  prairie  broad, 

With  railways  ironed  o'er?  — 
They  are  but  sailing  foam-bells 

Along  Thought's  causing  stream, 
And  take  their  shape  and  sun-color 

From  him  that  sends  the  dream. 


34  THE    WORLD-SOUL. 

For  Destiny  does  not  like 

To  yield  to  men  the  helm ; 
And  shoots  his  thought,  by  hidden  nerves, 

Throughout  the  solid  realm. 
The  patient  Daemon  sits, 

With  roses  and  a  shroud ; 
He  has  his  way,  and  deals  his  gifts, — 

Bat  ours  is  not  allowed. 

He  is  no  churl  nor  trifler, 

And  his  viceroy  is  none,  — 
Love-without-weakness,  — 

Of  Genius  sire  and  son. 
And  his  will  is  not  thwarted ; 

The  seeds  of  land  and  sea 
Are  the  atoms  of  his  body  bright, 

And  his  behest  obey. 

He  serveth  the  servant, 

The  brave  he  loves  amain  ; 
He  kills  the  cripple  and  the  sick, 
.     And  straight  begins  again 


THE   WORLD-SOUL. 

For  gods  delight  in  gods, 

And  thrust  the  weak  aside ; 

To  him  who  scorns  their  charities, 
Their  arms  fly  open  wide. 

When  the  old  world  is  sterile, 

And  the  ages  are  effete, 
He  will  from  wrecks  and  sediment 

The  fairer  world  complete. 
He  forbids  to  despair; 

His  cheeks  mantle  with  mirth ; 
And  the  unimagined  good  of  men 

Is  yeaning  at  the  birth. 

Spring  still  makes  spring  in  the  mind, 

When  sixty  years  are  told; 
Love  wakes  anew  this  throbbing  heart, 

And  we  are  never  old. 
Over  the  winter  glaciers, 

I  see  the  summer  glow, 
And,  through  the  wild-piled  snowdrift, 

The  warm  rosebuds  below. 


ALPHONSO    OF    CASTILE 


I,  ALPHONSO,  live  and  learn, 
Seeing  Nature  go  astern. 
Things  deteriorate  in  kind; 
Lemons  run  to  leaves  and  rind; 
Meagre  crop  of  figs  and  limes ; 
Shorter  days  and  harder  times. 
Flowering  April  cools  and  dies 
In  the  insufficient  skies. 
Imps,  at  high  midsummer,  blot 
Half  the  sun's  disk  with  a  spot : 
'Twill  not  now  avail  to  tan 
Orange  cheek  or  skin  of  man. 
Roses  bleach,  the  goats  are  dry, 
Lisbon  quakes,  the  people  cry. 
Yon  pale,  scrawny  fisher  fools, 
Gaunt  as  bitterns  in  the  pools, 


ALPHONSO    OF    CASTILE.  37 

Are  no  brothers  of  my  blood ;  — 

They  discredit  Adamhood. 

Eyes  of  gods !  ye  must  have  seen, 

O'er  your  ramparts  as  ye  lean, 

The  general  debility ; 

Of  genius  the  sterility  ; 

Mighty  projects  countermanded  ; 

Rash  ambition,  brokenhanded  ; 

Puny  man  and  scentless  rose 

Tormenting  Pan  to  double  the  dose. 

Rebuild  or  ruin :    either  fill 

Of  vital  force  the  wasted  rill, 

Or  tumble  all  again  in  heap 

To  weltering  chaos  and  to  sleep. 

Say,  Seigniors,  are  the  old  Niles  dry, 
Which  fed  the  veins  of  earth  and  sky, 
That  mortals  miss  the  loyal  heats, 
Which  drove  them  erst  to  social  feats; 
Now,  to  a  savage  selfness  grown, 
Think  nature  barely  serves  for  one; 


38  ALPHONSO    OF    CASTILE. 

With  science  poorly  mask  their  hurt, 
And  vex  the  gods  with  question  pert, 
Immensely  curious    whether  you 
Still  are  rulers,  or  mildew? 

Masters,  I'm  in  pain  with  you; 

Masters,  I'll  be  plain  with  you; 

In  my  palace  of  Castile, 

I,  a  king,  for  kings  can  feel. 

There  my  thoughts  the  matter  roll, 

And  solve  and  oft  resolve  the  whole. 

And,  for  I'm  styled  Alphonse  the  Wise, 

Ye  shall  not  fail  for  sound  advice. 

Before  ye  want  a  drop  of  rain, 

Hear  the  sentiment  of  Spain. 

You  have  tried  famine:  no  more  try  it; 

Ply  us  now  with  a  full  diet; 

Teach  your  pupils  now  with  plenty; 

For  one  sun  supply  us  twenty. 

I  have  thought  it  thoroughly  over,  — 

State  of  hermit,  state  of  lover ; 


ALPHONSO    OF    CASTILE. 

We  must  have  society, 

We  cannot  spare  variety. 

Hear  you,  then,  celestial  fellows! 

Fits  not  to  be  overzealous; 

Steads  not  to  work  on  the  clean  jump, 

Nor  wine  nor  brains  perpetual  pump. 

Men  and  gods  are  too  extense; 

Could  you  slacken  and  condense? 

Your  rank  overgrowths  reduce 

Till  your  kinds  abound  with  juice  ? 

Earth,  crowded,  cries,  '  Too  many  men ! ' 

My  counsel  is,  kill  nine  in  ten, 

And  bestow  the  shares  of  all 

On  the  remnant  decimal. 

Add  their  nine  lives  to  this  cat; 

Stuff  their  nine  brains  in  his  hat ; 

Make  his  frame  and  forces  square 

With  the  labors  he  must  dare; 

Thatch  his  flesh,  and  even  his  years 

With  the  marble  which  he  rears. 

There,  growing  slowly  old  at  ease, 

No  faster  than  his  planted  trees, 


40  ALPHONSO    OF   CASTILE. 

He  may,  by  warrant  of  his  age, 
In  schemes  of  broader  scope  engage. 
So  shall  ye  have  a  man  of  the  sphere, 
Fit  to  grace  the  solar  year. 


41 


MITHRIDATES. 


I  CANNOT  spare  water  or  wine, 

Tobacco-leaf,  or  poppy,  or  rose ; 

From  the  earth-poles  to  the  line, 
All  between  that  works  or  grows, 

Every  thing  is  kin  of  mine. 

Give  me  agates  for  my  meat; 
Give  me  cantharids  to  eat; 
From  air  and  ocean  bring  me  foods, 
From  all  zones  and  altitudes;  — 

From  all  natures,  sharp  and  slimy, 
Salt  and  basalt,  wild  and  tame: 

Tree  and  lichen,  ape,  sea-lion, 
Bird,  and  reptile,  be  my  game. 


42  MITHRIDATES. 

Ivy  for  my  fillet  band ; 
Blinding  dog-wood  in  my  hand ; 
Hemlock  for  my  sherbet  cull  me, 
And  the  prussic  juice  to  lull  me; 
Swing  me  in  the  upas  boughs, 
Vampy re-fanned,  when  I  carouse. 

Too  long  shut  in  strait  and  few, 
Thinly  dieted  on  dew, 
I  will  use  the  world,  and  sift  it, 
To  a  thousand  humors  shift  it, 
As  you  spin  a  cherry. 
O  doleful  ghosts,  and  goblins  merry ! 
O  all  you  virtues,  methods,  mights, 
Means,  appliances,  delights, 
Reputed  wrongs  and  braggart  rights, 
Smug  routine,  and  things  allowed, 
Minorities,  things  under  cloud  ! 
Hither !  take  me,  use  me,  fill  me, 
Vein  and  artery,  though  ye  kill  me ! 
God  !  I  will  not  be  an  owl, 
But  sun  me  in  the  Capitol. 


TO   J.  TV. 


SET  not  thy  foot  on  graves : 
I  Hear  what  wine  and  roses  say ; 
The  mountain  chase,  the  summer  waves, 
The  crowded  town,  thy  feet  may  well  delay. 

Set  not  thy  foot  on  graves ; 

Nor  seek  to  unwind  the  shroud 

Which  charitable  Time 

And  Nature  have  allowed 

To  wrap  the  errors  of  a  sage  sublime. 

Set  not  thy  foot  on  graves: 
Care  not  to  strip  the  dead 
Of  his  sad  ornament, 
His  myrrh,  and  wine,  and  rings, 


44  TO  J.  w. 

His  sheet  of  lead, 

And  trophies  buried  : 

Go,  get  them  where  he  earned  them  when  alive ; 

As  resolutely  dig  or  dive. 

Life  is  too  short  to  waste 
In  critic  peep  or  cynic  bark, 
Quarrel  or  reprimand  : 
'Twill  soon  be  dark ; 
Up  !  mind  thine  own  aim,  and 
God  speed  the  mark  ! 


45 


PATE.) 


THAT  you  are  fair  or  wise  is  vain, 

Or  strong,  or  rich,  or  generous ; 

You  must  have  also  the  untaught  strain 

That  sheds  beauty  on  the  rose. 

There  is  a  melody  born  of  melody, 

Which  melts  the  world  into  a  sea. 

Toil  could  never  compass  it; 

Art  its  height  could  never  hit; 

It  came  never  out  of  wit ; 

But  a  music  music-born 

Well  may  Jove  and  Juno  scorn. 

Thy  beauty,  if  it  lack  the  fire 

Which  drives  me  mad  with  sweet  desire, 

What  boots  it?  what  the  soldier's  mail, 

Unless  lie  conquer  and  prevail  ? 


46  FATE. 

What  all  the  goods  thy  pride  which  lift, 

If  thou  pine  for  another's  gift  1 

Alas !  that  one  is  born  in  blight, 

Victim  of  perpetual  slight : 

When  thou  lookest  on  his  face, 

Thy  heart  saith,  'Brother,  go  thy  ways! 

None  shall  ask  thee  what  thou  doest, 

Or  care  a  rush  for  what  thou  knowest, 

Or  listen  when  thou  repliest, 

Or  remember  where  thou  liest, 

Or  how  thy  supper  is  sodden;' 

And  another  is  born 

To  make  the  sun  forgotten. 

Surely  he  carries  a  talisman 

Under  his  tongue; 

Broad  are  his  shoulders  and  strong; 

And  his  eye  is  scornful, 

Threatening,  and  young. 

I  hold  it  of  little  matter 

Whether  your  jewel  be  of  pure  water, 

A  rose  diamond  or  a  white, 

But  whether  it  dazzle  me  with  light. 


FATE.  47 

I  care  not  how  you  are  dressed, 

In  the  coarsest  or  in  the  best; 

Nor  whether  your  name  is  base  or  brave; 

Nor  for  the  fashion  of  your  behavior ; 

But  whether  you  charm  me, 

Bid  my  bread  feed  and  my  fire  warm  me, 

And  dress  up  Nature  in  your  favor. 

One  thing  is  forever  good  ; 

That  one  thing  is  Success, — 

Dear  to  the  Eumenides, 

And  to  all  the  heavenly  brood. 

Who  bides  at  home,  nor  looks  abroad, 

Carries  the  eagles,  and  masters  the  sword. 


48 


GUY. 


MORTAL  mixed  of  middle  clay, 
Attempered  to  the  night  and  day, 
Interchangeable  with  things, 
Needs  no  amulets  nor  rings. 
Guy  possessed  the  talisman 
That  all  things  from  him  began ; 
And  as,  of  old,  Polycrates 
Chained  the  sunshine  and  the  breeze, 
So  did  Guy  betimes  discover 
Fortune  was  his  guard  and  lover ; 
In  strange  junctures,  felt,  with  awe, 
His  own  symmetry  with  law; 
That  no  mixture  could  withstand 
The  virtue  of  his  lucky  hand. 
He  gold  or  jewel  could  not  lose, 
Nor  not  receive  his  ample  dues. 


GUY.  49 

In  the  street,  if  he  turned  round, 
His  eye  the  eye. 'twas  seeking  found. 
It  seemed  his  Genius  discreet 
Worked  on  the  Maker's  own  receipt, 
And  made  each  tide  and  element 
Stewards  of  stipend  and  of  rent; 
So  that  the  common  waters  fell 
As  costly  wine  into  his  well. 
He  had  so  sped  his  wise  affairs 
That  he  caught  Nature  in  his  snares  : 
Early  or  late,  the  falling  rain 
Arrived  in  time  to  swell  his  grain ; 
Stream  could  not  so  perversely  wind 
But  corn  of  Guy's  was  there  to  grind ; 
The  siroc  found  it  on  its  way, 
To  speed  his  sails,  to  dry  his  hay ; 
And  the  world's  sun  seemed  to  rise, 
To  drudge  all  day  for  Guy  the  wise. 
In  his  rich  nurseries,  timely  skill 
Strong  crab  with  nobler  blood  did  fill; 
The  zephyr  in  his  garden  rolled 
From  plum-trees  vegetable  gold; 
4 


50  GUY. 

And  all  the  hours  of  the  year 
With  their  own  harvest  honored  were. 
There  was  no  frost  but  welcome  came, 
Nor  freshet,  nor  midsummer  flame. 
Belonged  to  wind  and  world  the  toil 
And  venture,  and  to  Guy  the  oil. 


51 


TACT. 


WHAT  boots  it,  thy  virtue, 
What  profit  thy  parts, 

While  one  thing  thou  lackest, 
The  art  of  all  arts  ? 

The  only  credentials, 
Passport  to  success; 

Opens  castle  and  parlor,  — 
Address,  man,  Address. 

The  maiden  in  danger 

Was  saved  by  the  swain; 

His  stout  arm  restored  her 
To  Broadway  again. 


52  TACT. 

The  maid  would  reward  him, — 
Gay  company  come, — 

They  laugh,  she  laughs  with  them; 
He  is  moonstruck  and  dumb. 

This  clinches  the  bargain  ; 

Sails  out  of  the  bay ; 
Gets  the  vote  in  the  senate, 

Spite  of  Webster  and  Clay 

Has  for  genius  no  mercy, 
For  speeches  no  heed ; 

It  lurks  in  the  eyebearn, 
It  leaps  to  hxdeed. 

Church,  market,  and  tavern, 
Bed  and  board,  it  will  sway. 

It  has  no  to-morrow 
It  ends  with  to-day. 


53 


HAMATREYA. 


MINOTT,  Lee,  Willard,  Hosmer,  Meriam,  Flint 
Possessed  the  land  which  rendered  to  their  toil 
Hay,  corn,  roots,  hemp,  flax,  apples,  wool,  and  wood. 
Each  of  these  landlords  walked  amidst  his  farm, 
Saying,  '  "Tis  mine,  my  children's,  and  my  name's : 
How  sweet  the  west  wind  sounds  in  my  own  trees ! 
How  graceful  climb  those  shadows  on  my  hill ! 
I  fancy  these  pure  waters  and  the  flags 
Know  me,  as  does  my  dog  :  we  sympathize ; 
And,  I  affirm,  my  actions  smack  of  the  soil.' 
Where  are  these  men  ?    Asleep  beneath  their  grounds ; 
And  strangers,  fond  as  they,  their  furrows  plough. 
Earth  laughs  in  flowers,  to  see  her  boastful  boys 
Earth-proud,  proud  of  the  earth  which  is  not  theirs ; 
Who  steer  the  plough,  but  cannot  steer  their  feet 
Clear  of  the  grave. 


54  HAMATKEYA. 

They  added  ridge  to  valley,  brook  to  pond, 

And  sighed  for  all  that  bounded  their  domain. 

*  This  suits  me  for  a  pasture ;  that's  my  park ; 

We  must  have  clay,  lime,  gravel,  granite-ledge, 

And  misty  lowland,  where  to  go  for  peat. 

The  land  is  well,  —  lies  fairly  to  the  south. 

'Tis  good,  when  you  have  crossed  the  sea  and  back, 

To  find  the  sitfast  acres  where  you  left  them.' 

Ah !  the  hot  owner  sees  not  Death,  who  adds 

Him  to  his  land,  a  lump  of  mould  the  more. 

Hear  what  the  Earth  says :  — 


EARTH-SONG. 

1  Mine  and  yours  ; 
Mine,  not  yours. 
Earth  endures; 
Stars  abide  — 

Shine  down  in  the  old  sea; 
Old  are  the  shores  ; 
But  where  are  old  men? 


HAMATREYA.  55 

I  who  have  seen  much, 
Such  have  I  never  seen. 

'The  lawyer's  deed 
Ran  sure, 
In  tail, 

To  them,  and  to  their  heirs 
Who  shall  succeed, 
Without  fail, 
Forevermore. 

'  Here  is  the  land, 
Shaggy  with  wood, 
With  its  old  valley, 
Mound,  and  flood. 
But  the  heritors  7 
Fled  like  the  flood's  foam, — 
The  lawyer,  and  the  laws, 
And  the  kingdom, 
Clean  swept  herefrom. 


56 


'  They  called  me  theirs, 
Who  so  controlled  me; 
Yet  every  one 

Wished  to  stay,  and  is  gone. 
How  am  I  theirs, 
If  they  cannot  hold  me, 
But  I  hold  them  ? ' 

When  I  heard  the  Earth-song, 

I  was  no  longer  brave; 

My  avarice  cooled 

Like  lust  in  the  chill  of  the  grave 


57 


GOOD-BYE. 


GOOD-BYE,  proud  world !  I'm  going  home  : 
Thou  art  not  my  friend,  and  I'm  not  thine. 
Long  through  thy  weary  crowds  I  roam; 
A  river-ark  on  the  ocean  brine, 
Long  I've  been  tossed  like  the  driven  foam; 
But  now,  proud  world!  I'm  going  home. 

Good-bye  to  Flattery's  fawning  face; 

To  Grandeur  with  his  wise  grimace ; 

To  upstart  Wealth's  averted  eye ; 

To  supple  Office,  low  and  high ; 

To  crowded  halls,  to  court  and  street ; 

To  frozen  hearts  and  hasting  feet; 

To  those  who  go,  and  those  who  come ; 

Good-bye,  proud  world !  I'm  going  home. 


58  GOOD-EYE. 

I  um  going  to  my  own  hearth-stone, 
Bosomed  in  yon  green  hills  alone, — 
A  secret  nook  in  a  pleasant  land, 
Whose  groves  the  frolic  fairies  planned ; 
Where  arches  green,  the  livelong  day, 
Echo  the  blackbird's  roundelay, 
And  vulgar  feet  have  never  trod 
A  spot  that  is  sacred    to    thought  and  God. 

O,  when  I  am  safe  in  my  sylvan  home, 
I  tread  on  the  pride  of  Greece  and  Rome  ; 
And  when  I  am  stretched  beneath  the  pines, 
Where  the  evening  star  so  holy  shines, 
I  laugh  at  the  lore  and  the  pride  of  man, 
At  the  sophist  schools,  and  the  learned  clan ; 
For  what  are  they  all,  in  their  high  conceit, 
When  man  in  the  bush  with  God  may  meet? 


59 
THE    RHODORA: 

ON    BEING    ASKED,    WHENCE    IS    THE    FLOWER? 


IN  May,  when  sea-winds  pierced  our  solitudes, 

I  found  the  fresh  Rhodora  in  the  woods, 

Spreading  its  leafless  blooms  in  a  damp  nook, 

To  please  the  desert  and  the  sluggish  brook. 

The  purple  petals,  fallen  in  the  pool, 

Made  the  black  water  with  their  beauty  gay  ; 

Here  might  the  red-bird  come  his  plumes  to  cool, 

And  court  the  flower  that  cheapens  his  array. 

Rhodora !  if  the  sages  ask  thee  why 

This  charm  is  wasted  on  the  earth  and  sky, 

Tell  them,  dear,  that  if  eyes  were  made  for  seeing, 

Then  Beauty  is  its  own  excuse  for  being: 

Why  thou  wert  there,  O  rival  of  the  rose ! 

I  never  thought  to  ask,  I  never  knew ; 

But,  in  my  simple  ignorance,  suppose 

The  self-same  Power  that  brought  me  there  brought  you. 


GO 


THE   HUMBLE-BEE. 


BURLY,  dozing    humble-bee, 
Where  thou  art  is  clime  for  me. 
Let  them  sail  for  Porto  Rique, 
Far-off  heats  through  seas  to  seek ; 
I  will  follow  thee  alone, 
Thou  animated  torrid-zone ! 
Zigzag  steerer,  desert  cheerer, 
Let  me  chase  thy  waving  lines; 
Keep  me  nearer,  me  thy  hearer, 
Singing  over  shrubs  and  vines. 

Insect  lover  of  the  sun, 
Joy  of  thy  dominion ! 
Sailor  of  the  atmosphere ; 
Swimmer  through  the  waves  of  air ; 


THE    HUMBLE-BEE.  61 

Voyager  of  light  and  noon  ; 
Epicurean  of  June ; 
Wait,  I  prithee,  till  I  come 
Within  earshot  of  thy  hum,  — 
All  without  is  martyrdom. 

When  the  south  wind,  in  May  days, 
With  a  net  of  shining  haze 
Silvers  the  horizon  wall, 
And,  with  softness  touching  all, 
Tints  the  human  countenance 
With  a  color  of  romance, 
And,  infusing  subtle  heats, 
Turns  the  sod  to  violets, 
Thou,  in  sunny  solitudes, 
Rover  of  the  underwoods, 
The  green  silence  dost  displace 
With  thy  mellow,  breezy  bass. 

Hot  midsummer's  petted  crone, 
Sweet  to  me  thy  drowsy  tone 


62  THE    HUMBLE-BEE. 

Tells  of  countless  sunny  hours, 
Long  days,  and  solid  banks  of  flowers ; 
Of  gulfs  of  sweetness  without  bound 
In  Indian  wildernesses  found ; 
Of  Syrian  peace,  immortal  leisure, 
Firmest  cheer,  and  bird-like  pleasure. 

Aught  unsavory  or  unclean 
Hath  my  insect  never  seen  ; 
But  violets  and  bilberry  bells, 
Maple-sap,  and  daffodels, 
Grass  with  green  flag  half-mast  high, 
Succory  to  match  the  sky, 
Columbine  with  horn  of  honey, 
Scented  fern,  and  agrimony, 
Clover,  catchfly,  adder's-tongue, 
And    brier-roses,  dwelt  among ; 
All  beside  was  unknown  waste, 
All  was  picture  as  he  passed. 

Wiser  far  than  human  seer, 
Yellow-breeched  philosopher ! 


THE    HUMBLE-BEE.  63 

Seeing  only  what  is  fair, 
Sipping  only  what  is  sweet, 
Thou  dost  mock  at  fate  and  care, 
Leave  the  chaff,  and  take  the  wheat. 
When  the  fierce  north-western  blast 
Cools  sea  and  land  so  far  and  fast, 
Thou  already  slumberest  deep; 
Woe  and  want  thou  canst  outsleep; 
Want  and  woe,  which  torture  us, 
Thy  sleep  makes  ridiculous. 


64 


BERRYING, 


MAY  be  true  what  I  had  heard,  — 

Earth  's  a  howling  wilderness, 

Truculent  with  fraud  and  force/ 

Said  I,  strolling  through  the  pastures, 

And  along  the  river-side. 

Caught  among  the  blackberry  vines, 

Feeding  on  the  Ethiops  sweet, 

Pleasant  fancies  overtook  me. 

I  said,  *  What  influence  me  preferred, 

Elect,  to  dreams  thus  beautiful?' 

The  vines  replied,  '  And  didst  thou  deem 

No  wisdom  to  our  berries  went  1 ' 


cr, 


THE    SNOW-STORM. 


ANNOUNCED  by  all  the  trumpets  of  the  sky, 
Arrives  the  snow,  and,  driving  o'er  the  fields, 
Seems  nowhere  to  alight:  the  whited  air 
Hides  hills  and  woods,  the  river,  and  the  heaven, 
And  veils  the  farm-house  at  the  garden's  end. 
The  sled  and  traveller  stopped,  the  courier's  feet 
Delayed,  all  friends  shut  out,  the  housemates  sit 
Around  the  radiant  fireplace,  enclosed 
In  a  tumultuous  privacy  of  storm. 

Come  see  the  north  wind's  masonry. 
Out  of  an  unseen  quarry  evermore 
Furnished  with  tile,  the  fierce  artificer 
Curves  his  white  bastions  with  projected  roof 
Round  every  windward  stake,  or  tree,  or  door. 
Speeding,  the-  myriad-handed,  his  wild  work 


66  THE    SNOW-STORM. 

So  fanciful,  so  savage,  nought  cares  he 
For  number  or  proportion.     Mockingly, 
On  coop  or  kennel  he  hangs  Parian  wreaths  ; 
A  swan-like  form  invests  the  hidden  thorn ; 
Fills  up  the  fanner's  lane  from  wall  to  wall, 
Maugre  the  farmer's  sighs ;  and,  at  the  gate, 
A  tapering  turret  overtops  the  work. 
And  when  his  hours  are  numbered,  and  the  world 
Is  all  his  own,  retiring,  as  he  were  not, 
Leaves,  when  the  sun  appears,  astonished  Art 
To  mimic  in  slow  structures,  stone  by  stone, 
Built  in  an  age,  the  mad  wind's  night-work, 
The  frolic  architecture  of  the  snow. 


67 

WOODNOTES 
I. 


1. 

FOR  this  present,  hard 
Is  the  fortune  of  the  bard, 

Born  out  of  time  ; 
All  his  accomplishment, 
From  Nature's  utmost  treasure  spent, 

Booteth  not  him. 
When  the  pine  tosses  its  cones 
To  the  song  of  its  waterfall  tones, 
He  speeds  to  the  woodland  walks, 
To  birds  and  trees  he  talks : 
Caesar  of  his  leafy  Rome, 
There  the  poet  is  at  home. 
He  goes  to  the  river-side, — 
Not  hook  nor  line  hath  he ; 


68  WOODNOTES. 

He  stands  in  the  meadows  wide, — 

Nor  gun  nor  scythe  to  see; 

With  none  has  he  to  do, 

And  none  seek  him, 

Nor  men  below, 

Nor  spirits  dim. 

Sure  some  god  his  eye  enchants : 

What  he  knows  nobody  wants. 

In  the  wood  he  travels  glad. 

Without  better  fortune  had, 

Melancholy  without  bad. 

Planter  of  celestial  plants, 

What  he  knows  nobody  wants; 
What  he  knows  he  hides,  not  vaunts. 
Knowledge  this  man  prizes  best 
Seems  fantastic  to  the  rest: 
Pondering  shadows,  colors,  clouds, 
Grass-buds,  and  caterpillar-shrouds, 
Boughs  on  which  the  wild  bees  settle, 
Tints  that  spot  the  violets'  petal, 
Why  Nature  loves  the  number  five, 
And  why  the  star-form  she  repeats: 


VVOODNOTES. 

Lover  of  all  things  alive, 
Wonderer  at  all  he  meets, 
Wonderer  chiefly  at  himself, — 
Who  can  tell  him  what  he  is? 
Or  how  meet  in  human  elf 
Coming  and  past  eternities  ? 


And  such  I  knew,  a  forest 
A  minstrel  of  the  natural  year, 
Foreteller  of  the  vernal  ides, 
Wise  harbinger  of  spheres  and  tides, 
A  lover  true,  who  knew  by  heart 
Each  joy  the  mountain  dales  impart ; 
It  seemed  that  Nature  could  not  raise 
A  plant  in  any  secret  place, 
In  quaking  bog,  on  snowy  hill, 
Beneath  the  grass  that  shades  the  rill, 
Under  the  snow,  between  the  rocks, 
In  damp  fields  known  to  bird  and  fox, 
But  he  would  come  in  the  very  hour 
It  opened  in  its  virgin  bower, 


70  WOODNOTES. 

As  if  a  sunbeam  showed  the  place, 

And  tell  its  long-descended  race. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  breezes  brought  him ; 

It  seemed  as  if  the  sparrows  taught  him ; 

As  if  by  secret  sight  he  knew 

Where,  in  far  fields,  the  orchis  grew. 

Many  haps  fall  in  the  field 

Seldom  seen  by  wishful  eyes, 

But  all  her  shows  did  Nature  yield, 

To  please  and  win  this  pilgrim  wise. 

He  saw  the  partridge  drum  in  the  woods; 

He  heard  the  woodcock's  evening  hymn ; 

He  found  the  tawny  thrush's  broods; 

And  the  shy  hawk  did  wait  for  him ; 

What  others  did  at  distance  hear, 

And  guessed  within  the  thicket's  gloom, 

Was  showed  to  this  philosopher, 

And  at  his  bidding  seemed  to  come. 

3. 

In  unploughed  Maine  he  sought  the  lumberers'  gang 
Where  from  a  hundred  lakes  young  rivers  sprang ; 


WOODNOTES.  71 

He  trode  the  unplanted  forest  floor,  whereon 
The  all-seeing  sun  for  ages  hath  not  shone; 
Where  feeds  the  moose,  and  walks  the  surly  bear,^ 
And  up  the  tall  mast  runs  the  woodpecker. 
He  saw  beneath  dim  aisles,  in  odorous  beds, 
The  slight  Linnaea  hang  its  twin-born  heads, 
And  blessed  the  monument  of  the  man  of  flowers, 
Which  breathes  his  sweet  fame  through   the  northern 

bowers. 

He  heard,  when  in  the  grove,  at  intervals, 
With  sudden  roar  the  aged  pine-tree  falls, — 
One  crash,  the  death-hymn  of  the  perfect  tree, 
Declares  the  close  of  its  green  century. 
Low  lies  the  plant  to  whose  creation  went 
Sweet  influence  from  every  element; 
Whose  living  towers  the  years  conspired  to  build, 
Whose  giddy  top  the  morning  loved  to  gild. 
Through  these  green  tents,  by  eldest  Nature  dressed, 
He  roamed,  content  alike  with  man  and  beast. 
Where  darkness  found  him  he  lay  glad  at  night; 
There  the  red  morning  touched  him  with  its  light. 
Three  moons  his  great  heart  him  a  hermit  made, 
So  long  he  roved  at  will  the  boundless  shade. 


72  WOODNOTES. 

The  timid  it  concerns  to  ask  their  way, 
And  fear  what  foe  in  caves  and  swamps  can  stray, 
To  make  no  step  until  the  event  is  known, 
And  ills  to  come  as  evils  past  bemoan. 
Not  so  the  wise;  no  coward  watch  he  keeps 
To  spy  what  danger  on  his  pathway  creeps; 
Go  where  he  will,  the  wise  man  is  at  home, 
His  hearth  the  earth, —  his  hall  the  azure  dome; 
Where  his  clear  spirit  leads  him,  there's  his  road, 
By  God's  own  light  illumined  and  foreshowed. 
• 

4. 

'Twas  one  of  the  charmed  days, 

When  the  genius  of  God  doth  flow, 

The  wind  may  alter  twenty  ways, 

A  tempest  cannot  blow; 

It  may  blow  north,  it  still  is  warm; 

Or  south,  it  still  is  clear ; 

Or  east,  it  smells  like  a  clover-farm  ; 

Or  west,  no  thunder  fear. 

The  musing  peasant  lowly  great 

Beside  the  forest  water  sate ; 


WOODNOTES.  73 

The  rope-like  pine  roots  crosswise  grown 

Composed  the  network  of  his  throne ; 

The  wide  lake,  edged  with  sand  and  grass, 

Was  burnished  to  a  floor  of  glass, 

Painted  with  shadows  green  and  proud 

Of  the  tree  and  of  the  cloud. 

He  was  the  heart  of  all  the  scene ; 

On  him  the  sun  looked  more  serene ; 

To  hill  and  cloud  his  face  was  known,  — 

It  seemed  the  likeness  of  their  own ; 

They  knew  by  secret  sympathy 

The  public  child  of  earth  and  sky. 

'  You  ask,'  he  said,  '  what  guide 

Me  through  trackless  thickets  led, 

Through  thick-stemmed  woodlands  rough  and  wide  ? 

I  found  the  water's  bed. 

The  watercourses  were  my  guide; 

I  travelled  grateful  by  their  side, 

Or  through  their  channel  dry; 

They  led  me  through  the  thicket  damp, 

Through  brake  and  fern,  the  beavers'  camp, 


74  WOODNOTES. 

Through  beds  of  granite  cut  my  road, 
And  their  resistless  friendship  showed; 
The  falling  waters  led  me, 
The  foodful  waters  fed  me, 
And  brought  me  to  the  lowest  land, 
Unerring  to  the  ocean  sand. 
The  moss  upon  the  forest  bark 
Was  polestar  when  the  night  was  dark, 
The  purple  berries  in  the  wood 
Supplied  me  necessary  food; 
.  For  Nature  ever  faithful  is 
To  such  as  trust  her  faithfulness. 
When  the  forest  shall  mislead  me, 
When  the  night  and  morning  lie, 
When  sea  and  land  refuse  to  feed  me, 
'Twill  be  time  enough  to  die; 
Then  will  yet  my  mother  yield 
A  pillow  in  her  greenest  field, 
Nor  the  June  flowers  scorn  to  cover 
The  clay  of  their  departed  lover. 


75 


WOODNOTES. 
II. 


As  sunbeams  stream  through  liberal  space, 
And  nothing  jostle  or  displace, 
So  waved  the  pine-tree  through  my  thought, 
And  fanned  the  dreams  it  never  brought. 

'  Whether  is  better  the  gift  or  the  donor  ? 

Come  to  me/ 

Quoth  the  pine-tree, 

*  I  am  the  giver  of  honor. 

My  garden  is  the  cloven  rock, 

And  my  manure  the  snow; 

And  drifting  sand-heaps  feed  my  stock, 

In  summer's  scorching  glow. 

Ancient  or  curious, 

Who  knoweth  aught  of  us  ? 


76  WOODNOTES. 

Old  as  Jove, 

Old  as  Love, 

Who  of  me 

Tells  the  pedigree? 

Only  the  mountains  old. 

Only  the  waters  cold, 

Only  moon  and  star 

My  coevals  are. 

Ere  the  first  fowl  sung 

My  relenting  boughs  among 

Ere  Adam  wived, 

Ere  Adam  lived, 

Ere  the  duck  dived, 

Ere  the  bees  hived, 

Ere  the  lion  roared, 

Ere  the  eagle  soared, 

Light  and  heat,  land  and  sea, 

Spake  unto  the  oldest  tree. 

Glad  in  the  sweet  and  secret  aid 

Which  matter  unto  matter  paid, 

The  water  flowed,  the  breezes  fanned 

The  tree  confined  the  roving  sand, 


WOODNOTES.  77 

The  sunbeam  gave  me  to  the  sight, 

The  tree  adorned  the  formless  light, 

And  once  again 

O'er  the  grave  of  men 

We  shall  talk  to  each  other  again 

Of  the  old  age  behind, 

Of  the  time  out  of  mind, 

Which  shall  come  again. 

'Whether  is  better  the  gift  or  the  donor? 

Come  to  me/ 

Quoth  the  pine-tree, 

'  I  am  the  giver  of  honor. 

He  is  great  who  can  live  by  me. 

The  rough  and  bearded  forester 

Is  better  than  the  lord ; 

God  fills  the  scrip  and  canister, 

Sin  piles  the  loaded  board. 

The  lord  is  the  peasant  that  was, 

The  peasant  the  lord  that  shall  be; 

The  lord  is  hay,  the  peasant  grass, 

One  dry,  and  one  the  living  tree. 


78  WOODNOTES. 

Genius  with  my  boughs  shall  flourish, 
Want  and  cold  our  roots  shall  nourish. 
Who  liveth  by  the  ragged  pine 
Foundeth  a  heroic  line; 
Who  liveth  in  the  palace  hall 
Waneth  fast  and  spendeth  all. 
He  goes  to  my  savage  haunts, 
With  his  chariot  and  his  care; 
My  twilight  realm  he  disenchants, 
And  finds  his  prison  there. 

'What  prizes  the  town  and  the  tower? 
Only  what  the  pine-tree  yields ; 
Sinew  that  subdued  the  fields ; 
The  wild-eyed  boy,  who  in  the  woods 
Chants  his  hymn  to  hills  and  floods, 
Whom  the  city's  poisoning  spleen 
\r    Made  not  pale,  or  fat,  or  lean; 

Whom  the  rain  and  the  wind  purgeth, 
Whom  the  dawn  and  the  day-star  urgeth, 
In  whose  cheek  the  rose-leaf  blusheth, 
In  whose  feet  the  lion  rusheth, 


• 
WOODNOTES. 


Iron  arms,  and  iron  mould, 

That  know  not  fear,  fatigue,  or  cold. 

I  give  my  rafters  to  his  boat, 

My  billets  to  his  boiler's  throat; 

And  I  will  swim  the  ancient  sea, 

To  float  my  child  to  victory, 

And  grant  to  dwellers  with  the  pine 

Dominion  o'er  the  palm  and  vine. 

Westward  I  ope  the  forest  gates, 

The  train  along  the  railroad  skates; 

It  leaves  the  land  behind  like  ages  past, 

The  foreland  flows  to  it  in  river  fast; 

Missouri  I  have  made  a  mart, 

I  teach  Iowa  Saxon  art. 
( 

Who  leaves  the  pine-tree,  leaves  his  friend. 

Unnerves  his  strength,  invites  his  end. 
Cut  a  bough  from  my  parent  stem, 
And  dip  it  in  thy  porcelain  vase; 
A  little  while  each  russet  gem 
Will  swell  and  rise  with  wonted  grace; 
But  when  it  seeks  enlarged  supplies, 
The  orphan  of  the  forest  dies. 


80  WOODNOTES. 

Whoso  walketh  in  solitude, 

And  inhabiteth  the  wood, 

Choosing  light,  wave,  rock,  and  bird, 

Before  the  money-loving  herd, 

Into  that  forester  shall  pass, 

From  these  companions,  power  and  grace. 

Clean  shall  he  be,  without,  within, 

From  the  old  adhering  sin. 

Love  shall  he,  but  not  adulate 

The  all-fair,  the  all-embracing  Fate; 

All  ill  dissolving  in  the  light 

Of  his  triumphant  piercing  sight. 

Not  vain,  sour,  nor  frivolous; 

Not  mad,  athirst,  nor  garrulous; 

Grave,  chaste,  contented,  though  retired, 

And  of  all  other  men  desired. 

On  him  the  light  of  star  and  moon 

Shall  fall  with  purer  radiance  down; 

All  constellations  of  the  sky 

Shed  their  virtue  through  his  eye. 

Him  Nature  giveth  for  defence 

His  formidable  innocence ; 


WOODNOTES.  81 

The  mounting  sap,  the  shells,  the  sea, 

All  spheres,  all  stones,  his  helpers  be; 

He  shall  never  be  old  ; 

Nor  his  fate  shall  be  foretold ; 

He  shall  see  the  speeding  year, 

Without  wailing,  without  fear; 

He  shall  be  happy  in  his  love, 

Like  to  like  shall  joyful  prove; 

He  shall  be  happy  whilst  he  woos, 

Muse-born,  a  daughter  of  the  Muse. 

But  if  with  gold  she  bind  her  hair, 

And  deck  her  breast  with  diamond, 

Take  off  thine  eyes,  thy  heart  forbear, 

Though  thou  lie  alone  on  the  ground. 

The  robe  of  silk  in  which  she  shines, 

It  was  woven  of  many  sins; 

And  the  shreds 

Which  she  sheds 

In  the  wearing  of  the  same, 

Shall  be  grief  on  grief, 

And  shame  on  shame. 


82  WOODNOTES. 

'  Heed  the  old  oracles, 

Ponder  my  spells; 

Song  wakes  in  my  pinnacles 

When  the  wind  swells. 

Soundeth  the  prophetic  wind, 

The  shadows  shake  on  the  rock  behind, 

And  the  countless  leaves  of  the  pine  are  strings 

Tuned  to  the  lay  the  wood-god  sings. 

Hearken  !     Hearken ! 
If  thou  wouldst  know  the  mystic  song 
Chanted  when  the  sphere  was  young. 
Aloft,  abroad,  the  psean  swells; 
O  wise  man !  hear'st  thou  half  it  tells  ? 
O  wise  man  !  hear'st  thou  the  least  part  ? 
'Tis  the  chronicle  of  art. 
To  the  open  ear  it  sings 
Sweet   the   genesis  of  things, 
Of  tendency  through  endless  ages, 
Of  star-dust,  and  star-pilgrimages, 
Of  rounded  worlds,  of  space  and  time, 
Of  the  old  flood's  subsiding  slime, 


WOODNOTES. 

Of  chemic  matter,  force,  and  form, 

Of  poles  and  powers,  cold,  wet,  and  warm 

The  rushing  metamorphosis, 

Dissolving  all  that  fixture  is, 

Melts  things  that  be  to  things  that  seem, 

And  solid  nature  to  a  dream. 

O,  listen  to  the  undersong  — 

The  ever  old,  the  ever  young; 

And,  far  within  those  cadent  pauses, 

The  chorus  of  the  ancient  Causes ! 

Delights  the  dreadful  Destiny 

To  fling  his  voice  into  the  tree, 
And  shock  thy  weak  ear  with  a  note 
Breathed  from  the  everlasting  throat. 
In  music  he  repeats  the  pang 
Whence  the  fair  flock  of  Nature  sprang. 
O  mortal !  thy  ears  are  stones ; 
These  echoes  are  laden  with  tones 
Which  only  the  pure  can  hear ; 
Thou  canst  not  catch  what  they  recite 
Of  Fate  and  Will,  of  Want  and  Right, 


84  WOODNOTE-S. 

Of  man  to  come,  of  human  life, 

Of  Death,  and  Fortune,  Growth,  and  Strife.' 

Once  again  the  pine-tree  sung:  — 
*  Speak  not  thy  speech  my  boughs  among ; 
Put  off  thy  years,  wash  in  the  breeze; 
My  hours  are  peaceful  centuries. 
Talk  no  more  with  feeble  tongue; 
No  more  the  fool  of  space  and  time, 
Come  weave  with  mine  a  nobler  rhyme. 
Only  thy  Americans 

Can  read  thy  line,  can  meet  thy  glance, 
But  the  runes  that  I  rehearse 
Understands  the  universe; 
The  least  breath  my  boughs  which  tossed 
Brings  again  the  Pentecost , 
To  every  soul  it  soundeth  clear 
In  a  voice  of  solemn  cheer,  — 
"Am  I  not  thine?     Are  not  these  thine?" 
And  they  reply,  "Forever  mine!" 
My  branches  speak  Italian, 
English,  German,  Basque,  Castilian, 


WOODNOTES.  85 

Mountain  speech  to  Highlanders, 
Ocean  tongues  to  islanders, 
To  Fin,  and  Lap,  and  swart  Malay,, 
To  each  his  bosom  secret  say. 

Come  learn  with  me  the  fatal  song 
Which  knits  the  world  in  music  strong, 
Whereto  every  bosom  dances, 
Kindled  with  courageous  fancies. 
Come  lift  thine  eyes  to  lofty  rhymes, 
Of  things  with  things,  of  times  with  times, 
Primal  chimes  of  sun  and  shade, 
Of  sound  and  echo,  man  and  maid, 
The  land  reflected  in  the  flood, 
Body  with  shadow  still  pursued. 
For  Nature  beats  in  perfect  tune, 
And  rounds  with  rhyme  her  every  rune, 
Whether  she  work  in  land  or  sea, 
Or  hide  underground  her  alchemy. 
Thou  canst  not  wave  thy  staff  in  air, 
Or  dip  thy  paddle  in  the  lake, 
But  it  carves  the  bow  of  beauty  there, 
And  the  ripples  in  rhymes  the  oar  forsake. 


86  WOODNOTES. 

The  wood  is  wiser  far  than  thou ; 

The  wood  and  wave  each  other  know. 

Not  unrelated,  unaffied, 

But  to  each  thought  and  thing  allied, 

Is  perfect  Nature's  every  part, 

Rooted  in  the  mighty  Heart. 

But  thou,  poor  child  !  unbound,  unrhymed, 

Whence  earnest  thou,  misplaced,  mistimed? 

Whence,  O  thou  orphan  and  defrauded  ? 

Is  thy  land  peeled,  thy  realm  marauded? 

Who  thee  divorced,  deceived,  and  left  ? 

Thee  of  thy  faith  who  hath  bereft, 

And  torn  the  ensigns  from  thy  brow, 

And  sunk  the  immortal  eye  so  low? 

Thy  cheek  too  white,  thy  form  too  slender, 

Thy  gait  too  slow,  thy  habits  tender 

For  royal  man;  —  they  thee  confess 

An  exile  from  the  wilderness, — 

The  hills  where  health  with  health  agrees, 

And  the  wise  soul  expels  disease. 

Hark  !  in  thy  ear  I  will  tell  the  sign 

By  which  thy  hurt  thou  may'st  divine. 


WOODNOTES.  87 

When  thou  shall  climb  the  mountain  cliff, 
Or  see  the  wide  shore  from  thy  skiff, 
To  thee  the  horizon  shall  express 
Only  emptiness  and  emptiness ; 
There  is  no  man  of  Nature's  worth 
In  the  circle  of  the  earth ; 
And  to  thine  eye  the  vast  skies  fall, 
Dire  and  satirical, 

On  clucking  hens,  and  prating  fools, 
On  thieves,  on  drudges,  and  on  dolls. 
And  thou  shalt  say  to  the  Most  High, 
"  Godhead  !  all  this  astronomy, 
And  fate,  and  practice,  and  invention, 
Strong  art,  and  beautiful  pretension, 
This  radiant  pomp  of  sun  and  star, 
Throes  that  were,  and  worlds  that  are, 
Behold!  were  in  vain  and  in  vain;  — 
It  cannot  be,  —  I  will  look  again; 
Surely  now  will  the  curtain  rise, 
And  earth's  fit  tenant  me  surprise ;  — 
But  the  curtain  doth  not  rise, 


WOODNOTES. 

And  Nature  has  miscarried  wholly 
Into  failure,  into  folly." 

'  Alas !  thine  is  Ihc  bankruptcy, 

Blessed  Nature  so  to  see. 

Come,  lay  thee  in  my  soothing  shade, 

And  heal  the  hurts  which  sin  has  made. 

I  will  teach  the  bright  parable 

Older  than  time, 

Things  undeclarable, 

Visions  sublime. 

I  see  thee  in  the  crowd  alone; 

I  will  be  thy  companion. 

Let  thy  friends  be  as  the  dead  in  doom, 

And  build  to  them  a  final  tomb ; 

Let  the  starred  shade  that  nightly  falls 

Still  celebrate  their  funerals, 

And  the  bell  of  beetle  and  of  bee 

Knell  their  melodious  memory. 

Behind  thee  leave  thy  merchandise, 

Thy  churches,  and  thy  charities ; 


WOODNOTES.  89 

And  leave  thy  peacock  wit  behind; 

Enough  for  thee  the  primal  mind 

That  flows  in  streams,  that  breathes  in  wind. 

Leave  all  thy  pedant  lore  apart; 

God  hid  the  whole  world  in  thy  heart. 

Love  shuns  the  sage,  the  child  it  crowns, 

And  gives  them  all  who  all  renounce. 

The  rain  comes  when  the  wind  calls ; 

The  river  knows  the  way  to  the  sea; 

Without  a  pilot  it  runs  and  falls, 

Blessing  all  lands  with  its  charity; 

The  sea  tosses  and  foams  to  find 

Its  way  up  to  the  cloud  and  wind; 

The  shadow  sits  close  to  the  flying  ball ; 

The  date  fails  not  on  the  palm-tree  tall; 

And  thou,  —  go  burn  thy  wormy  pages,  — 

Shalt  outsee  seers,  and  outwit  sages. 

Oft  didst  thou  thread  the  woods  in  vain 

To  find  what  bird  had  piped  the  strain;  — 

Seek  not,  and  the  little  eremite 

Flies  gayly  forth  and  sings  in  sight. 


90  WOODNOTES. 

'  Hearken  once  more  ! 

I  will  tell  thee  the  mundane  lore. 

Older  am  I  than  thy  numbers  wot; 

Change  I  may,  but  I  pass  not. 

Hitherto  all  things  fast  abide, 

And  anchored  in  the  tempest  ride. 

Trenchant  time  behoves  to  hurry 

All  to  yean  and  all  to  bury : 

All  the  forms  are  fugitive, 

But  the  substances  survive. 

Ever  fresh  the  broad  creation, 

A  divine  improvisation, 

From  the  heart  of  God  proceeds, 

A  single  will,  a  million  deeds. 

Once  slept  the  world  an  egg  of  stone, 

And  pulse,  and  sound,  and  light  was  none; 

And  God  said,  "  Throb ! "  and  there  was  motion, 

And  the  vast  mass  became  vast  ocean. 

Onward  and  on,  the  eternal  Pan, 

Who  layeth  the  world's  incessant  plan, 

Halteth  never  in  one  shape, 

But  forever  doth  escape, 


WOODNOTES.  91 

Like  wave  or  flame,  into  new  forms 

Of  gem,  and  air,  of  plants,  and  worms. 

I,  that  to-day  am  a  pine, 

Yesterday  was  a  bundle  of  grass. 

He  is  free  and  libertine, 

Pouring  of  his  power  the  wine 

To  every  age,  to  every  race ; 

Unto  every  race  and  age 

He  emptieth  the  beverage; 

Unto  each,  and  unto  all, 

Maker  and  original. 

The  world  is  the  ring  of  his  spells, 

And  the  play  of  his  miracles. 

As  he  giveth  to  all  to  drink, 

Thus  or  thus  they  are  and  think. 

He  giveth  little  or  giveth  much, 

To  make  them  several  or  such. 

With  one  drop  sheds  form  and  feature; 

With  the  second  a  special  nature  ; 

The  third  adds  heat's  indulgent  spark ; 

The  fourth  gives  light  which  eats  the  dark  ; 


92  WOODNOTES. 

Into  the  fifth  himself  he  flings, 

And  conscious  Law  is  King  of  kings. 

Pleaseth  him,  the  Eternal  Child, 

To  play  his  sweet  will,  glad  and  wild; 

As  the  bee-  through  the  garden  ranges, 

From  world  to  world  the  godhead  changes; 

As  the  sheep  go  feeding  in  the  waste, 

From  form  to  form  he  maketh  haste ; 

This  vault  which  glows  immense  with  light 

Is  the  inn  where  he  lodges  for  a  night. 

What  recks  such  Traveller  if  the  bowers 

Which  bloom  and  fade  like  meadow  flowers 

A  bunch  of  fragrant  lilies  be, 

Or  the  stars  of  eternity  ? 

Alike  to  him  the  better,  the  worse,  — 

The  glowing  angel,  the  outcast  corse. 

Thou  metest  him  by  centuries, 

And  lo !  he  passes  like  the  breeze ; 

Thou  seek'st  in  globe  and  galaxy, 

He  hides  in  pure  transparency; 

Thou  askest  in  fountains  and  in  fires, 

He  is  the  essence  that  inquires. 


WOODNOTES. 

He  is  the  axis  of  the  star ; 

He  is  the  sparkle  of  the  spar ; 

He  is  the  heart  of  every  creature ; 

He  is  the  meaning  of  each  feature ; 

And  his  mind  is  the  sky, 

Than  all  it  holds  more  deep,  more  high.' 


94 


MONADNOC. 


THOUSAND  minstrels  woke  within  me, 
'  Our  music's  in  the  hills ; '  — 

Gayest  pictures  rose  to  win  me, 
Leopard-colored  rills. 

'  Up !  —  If  thou  knew'st  who  calls 

To  twilight  parks  of  beech  and  pine, 

High  over  the  river  intervals, 

Above  the  ploughman's  highest  line, 

Over  the  owner's  farthest  walls! 

Up!  where  the  airy  citadel 

O'erlooks  the  surging  landscape's  swell ! 

Let  not  unto  the  stones  the  Day 

Her  lily  and  rose,  her  sea  and  land  display. 

Read  the  celestial  sign  ! 

I  *> !  the  south  answers  to  the  north ; 

Bookworm,  break  this  sloth  urbane; 


MONADNOC.  95 

A  greater  spirit  bids  thee  forth 

Than  the  gray  dreams  which  thee  detain. 

Mark  how  the  climbing  Oreads 

Beckon  thee  to  their  arcades! 

Youth,  for  a  moment  free  as  they, 

Teach  thy  feet  to  feel  the  ground, 

Ere  yet  arrives  the  wintry  day 

When  Time  thy  feet  has  bound. 

Take  the  bounty  of  thy  birth, 

Taste  the  lordship  of  the  earth.' 

I  heard,  and  I  obeyed, — 
Assured  that  he  who  made  the  claim, 
Well  known,  but  loving  not  a  name, 

Was  not  to  be  gainsaid. 

Ere  yet  the  summoning  voice  was  still, 
I  turned  to  Cheshire's  haughty  hill. 
From  the  fixed  cone  the  cloud-rack  flowed, 
Like  ample  banner  flung  abroad 
To  all  the  dwellers  in  the  plains 


96  MONADNOC. 

Round  about,  a  hundred  miles, 
With  salutation  to  the  sea,  and  to  the  border 
ing  isles. 

In  his  own  loom's  garment  dressed, 
By  his  proper  bounty  blessed, 
Fast  abides  this  constant  giver, 
Pouring  many  a  cheerful  river; 
To  far  eyes,  an  aerial  isle 
Unploughed,  which  finer  spirits  pile, 
Which  morn  and  crimson  evening  paint 
For  bard,  for  lover,  and  for  saint; 
The  people's  pride,  the  country's  core, 
Inspirer,  prophet  evermore; 
Pillar  which  God  aloft  had  set 
So  that  men  might  it  not  forget; 
It  should  be  their  life's  ornament, 
And  mix  itself  with  each  event ; 
This  their  calendar  and  dial, 
Weatherglass  and  chemic  phial, 
Garden  of  berries,  perch  of  birds, 
Pasture  of  pool-haunting  herds, 


MONADNOC.  97 

Graced  by  each  change  of  sum  untold, 
Earth-baking  heat,  stone-cleaving  cold. 

The  Titan  heeds  his  sky-affairs, 
Rich  rents  and  wide  alliance  shares; 
Mysteries  of  color  daily  laid 
By  the  sun  in  light  and  shade ; 
And  sweet  varieties  of  chance, 
Arid  the  mystic  seasons'  dance; 
And  thief-like  step  of  liberal  hours 
Thawing  snow-drift  into  flowers. 
O,  wondrous  craft  of  plant  and  stone 
By  eldest  science  done  and  shown ! 

*  Happy,'  I  said,  '  whose  home  is  here ! 
Fair  fortunes  to  the  mountaineer! 
Boon  Nature  to  his  poorest  shed 
Has  royal  pleasure-grounds  outspread.' 
Intent,  I  searched  the  region  round, 
And  in  low  hut  my  monarch  found :  — 


98  MOJVADNOC. 

Wo  is  me  for  my  hope's  downfall ! 

Is  yonder  squalid  peasant  all 

That  this  proud  nursery  could  breed 

For  God's  vicegerency  and  stead? 

Time  out  of  mind,  this  forge  of  ores ; 

Quarry  of  spars  in  mountain  pores; 

Old  cradle,  hunting-ground,  and  bier 

Of  wolf  and  otter,  bear  and  deer ; 

Well-built  abode  of  many  a  race ; 

Tower  of  observance  searching  space ; 

Factory  of  river  and  of  rain ; 

Link  in  the  alps'  globe-girding  chain; 

By  million  changes  skilled  to  tell 

What  in  the  Eternal  standeth  well, 

And  what  obedient  Nature  can;  — 

Is  this  colossal  talisman 

Kindly  to  creature,  blood,  and  kind, 

Yet    speechless  to  the  master's  mind  ? 

I  thought  to  find  the  patriots 

In  whom  the  stock  of  freedom  roots: 


MONADNOC.  99 

To  myself  I  oft  recount 
Tales  of  many  a  famous  mount, — 
Wales,  Scotland,  Uri,  Hungary's  dells; 
Bards,  Roys,  Scanderbegs,  and  Tells. 
Here  Nature  shall  condense  her  powers, 
Her  music,  and  her  meteors, 
And  lifting  man  to  the  blue  deep 
Where  stars  their  perfect  courses  keep, 
Like  wise  preceptor,  lure  his  eye 
To  sound  the  science  of  the  sky, 
And  carry  learning  to  its  height 
Of  untried  power  and  sane  delight : 
The  Indian  cheer,  the  frosty  skies, 
Rear  purer  wits,  inventive  eyes, — 
Eyes  that  frame  cities  where  none  be, 
And  hands  that  stablish  what  these  see; 
And  by  the  moral  of  his  place 
Hint  summits  of  heroic  grace ; 
Man  in  these  crags  a  fastness  find 
To  fight  pollution  of  the  mind ; 
In  the  wide  thaw  and  ooze  of  wrong, 
Adhere  like  this  foundation  strong, 


100  MONADNOC. 

The  insanity  of  towns  to  stem 
With  simpleness  for  stratagem. 
But  if  the  brave  old  mould  is  broke, 
And  end  in  churls  the  mountain  folk, 
In  tavern  cheer  and  tavern  joke, 
Sink,  O  mountain,  in  the  swamp! 
Hide  in  thy  skies,  O  sovereign  lamp ! 
Perish  like  leaves,  the  highland  breed 
No  sire  survive,  no  son  succeed! 

Soft!  let  not  the  offended  muse 
Toil's  hard  hap  with  scorn  accuse. 
Many  hamlets  sought  I  then, 
Many  farms  of  mountain  men ; 
Found  I  not  a  minstrel  seed, 
But  men  of  bone,  and  good  at  need. 
Rallying  round  a  parish  steeple 
Nestle  warm  the  highland  people, 
Coarse  and  boisterous,  yet  mild, 
Strong  as  giant,  slow  as  child, 
Smoking  in  a  squalid  room 
Where  yet  the  westland  breezes  come. 


MONADNOC. 


101 


Close  hid  in  those  rough  guises  lurk 

Western  magians, —  here  they  work. 

Sweat  and  season  are  their  arts, 

Their  talismans  are  ploughs  and  carts; 

And  well  the  youngest  can  command 

Honey  from  the  frozen  land; 

With  sweet  hay  the  wild  swamp  adorn, 

Change  the  running  sand  to  corn ; 

For  wolves  and  foxes,  lowing  herds, 

And  for  cold  mosses,  cream  and  curds; 

Weave  wood  to  canisters  and  mats; 

Drain  sweet  maple  juice  in  vats. 

No  bird  is  safe  that  cuts  the  air 

From  their  rifle  or  their  snare; 

No  fish,  in  river  or  in  lake, 

But  their  long  hands  it  thence  will  take; 

And  the  country's  flinty  face, 

Like  wax,  their  fashioning  skill  betrays, 

To  fill  the  hollows,  sink  the  hills, 

Bridge  gulfs,  drain  swamps,  build  dams  and  mills, 

And  fit  the  bleak  and  howling  place 

For  gardens  of  a  finer  race. 


102  MONADNOC. 

'The  World-soul  knows  his  own  affair, 
Forelooking,  when  he  would  prepare 
For  the  next  ages,  men  of  mould 
Well  embodied,  well  ensouled, 
He  cools  the  present's  fiery  glow, 
Sets  the  life-pulse  strong  but  slow: 
Bitter  winds  and  fasts  austere 
His  quarantines  and  grottos,  where 
He  slowly  cures  decrepit  flesh, 
And  brings  it  infantile  and  fresh. 
These  exercises  are  the  toys 
And  games  to  breathe  his  stalwart  boys: 
They  bide  their  time,  and  well  can  prove, 
If  need  were,  their  line  from  Jove ; 
Of  the  same  stuff,  and  so  allayed, 
As  that  whereof  the  sun  is  made, 
And  of  the   fibre,  quick  and  strong, 
Whose  throbs  are  love,  whose  thrills  are  song. 

Now  in  sordid  weeds  they  sleep, 
In  clulncss  now  their  secret  keep ; 


MONADNOC. 


103 


Yet,  will  you  learn  our  ancient  speech, 

These  the  masters  who  can  teach. 

Fourscore  or  a  hundred  words 

All  their  vocal  muse  affords; 

But  they  turn  them  in  a  fashion 

Past  clerks'  or  statesmen's  art  or  passion. 

I  can  spare  the  college  bell, 

And  the  learned  lecture,  well; 

Spare  the  clergy  and  libraries, 

Institutes  and  dictionaries, 

For  that  hardy  English  root 

Thrives  here,  unvalued,  underfoot. 

Rude  poets  of  the  tavern  hearth, 

Squandering  your  unquoted  mirth, 

Which  keeps  the  ground,  and  never  soars, 

While  Jake  retorts,  and  Reuben  roars; 

Scoff  of  yeoman  strong  and  stark, 

Goes  like  bullet  to  its  mark  ; 

While  the  solid  curse  and  jeer 

Never  balk  the  waiting  ear. 

To  student  ears  keen  relished  jokes 

On  truck,  and  stock,  and  farming  folks, — 


MONADNOC. 

Nought  the  mountain  yields  thereof, 
But  savage  health  and  sinews  tough. 

On  the  summit  as  I  stood, 
O'er  the  floor  of  plain  and  flood 
Seemed  to  me,  the  towering  hili       » 
Was  not  altogether  still, 
But  a  quiet  sense  conveyed ; 
If  I  err  not,  thus  it  said :  — 

'  Many  feet  in  summer  seek, 

Betimes,  my  far-appearing  peak; 

In  the  dreaded  winter  time, 

None  save  dappling  shadows  climb, 

Under  clouds,  my  lonely  head, 

Old  as  the  sun,  old  almost  as  the  shade. 

And  comest  thou 

To  see  strange  forests  and  new  snow, 

And  tread  uplifted  land? 

And  leavest  thou  thy  lowland  race, 

Here  amid  clouds  to  stand  ? 

And  wouldst  be  my  companion, 


MONADNOC. 


105 


Where  I  gaze,  and  still  shall  gaze, 

Thro'  tempering  nights  and  flashing  days, 

When  forests  fall,  and  man  is  gone, 

Over  tribes  and  over  times, 

At  the  burning  Lyre, 

Nearing  me, 

With  its  stars  ot  northern  fire, 

In  many  a  thousand  years? 

'  Ah !  welcome,  if  thou  bring 
My  secret  in  thy  brain  ; 
To  mountain-top  may  Muse's  wing 
With  good  allowance  strain. 
Gentle  pilgrim,  if  thou  know 
The  gamut  old  of  Pan, 
And  how  the  hills  began, 
The  frank  blessings  of  the  hill 
Fall  on  thee,  as  fall  they  will. 
'Tis  the  law  of  bush  and  stone, 
Each  can  only  take  his  own. 


106  MONADNOC. 

'  Let  him  heed  who  can  and  will ; 
Enchantment  fixed  me  here 
To  stand  the  hurts  of  time,  until 
In  mightier  chant  I  disappear. 

'  If  thou  trowest 
How  the  chemic  eddies  play, 
Pole  to  pole,  and  what  they  say; 
And  that  these  gray  crags 
Not  on  crags  are  hung, 
But  beads  are  of  a  rosary 
On  prayer  and  music  strung; 
And,  credulous,  through  the  granite  seeming, 
Seest  the  smile  of  Reason  beaming ;  — 
Can  thy  style-discerning  eye 
The  hidden-working  Builder  spy, 
Who  builds,  yet  makes  no  chips,  no  din, 
With  hammer  soft  as  snowflake's  flight;  — 
Knowest  thou  this? 
O  pilgrim,  wandering  not  amiss ! 
Already  my  rocks  lie  light, 
And  soon  my  cone  will  spin. 


MONADNOC.  107 

'For  the  world  was  built  in  order, 
And  the  atoms  march  in  tune ; 
Rhyme  the  pipe,  and  Time  the  warder, 
Cannot  forget  the  sun,  the  moon. 
Orb  and  atom  forth  they  prance, 
When  they  hear  from  far  the  rune; 
None  so  backward  in  the  troop, 
When  the  music  and  the  dance 
Reach  his  place  and  circumstance, 
But  knows  the  sun-creating  sound, 
And,  though  a  pyramid,  will  bound. 

'  Monadnoc  is  a  mountain  strong, 
Tall  and  good  my  kind  among; 
But  well  I  know,  no  mountain  can 
Measure  with  a  perfect  man. 
For  it  is  on  zodiacs  writ, 
Adamant  is  soft  to  wit: 
And  when  the  greater  comes  again 
With  my  secret  in  his  brain, 
I  shall  pass,  as  glides  my  shadow 
Daily  over  hill  and  meadow. 


108  MONADNOC. 

'Through  all  time,  in  light,  in  gloom, 
Well  I  hear  the  approaching  feet 
On  the  flinty  pathway  beat 
Of  him  that  cometh,  and  shall  come ; 
Of  him  who  shall  as  lightly  bear 
My  daily  load  of  woods  and  streams, 
As  doth  this  round  sky-cleaving  boat 
Which  never  strains  its  rocky  beams; 
Whose  timbers,  as  they  silent  float, 
Alps  and  Caucasus  uprear, 
And  the  long  Alleghanies  here, 
And  all  town-sprinkled  lands  that  be, 
Sailing  through  stars  with  all  their  history. 

'  Every  morn  I  lift  my  head, 

Gaze  o'er  New  England  underspread, 

South  from  Saint  Lawrence  to  the  Sound, 

From  Katskill  east  to  the  sea-bound. 

Anchored  fast  for  many  an  age, 

I  await  the  bard  and  sage, 

Who,  in  large  thoughts,  like  fair  pearl-seed, 

Shall  string  Monadnoc  like  a  bead. 


MONADNOC. 

Comes  that  cheerful  troubadour, 
This  mound  shall  throb  his  face  before, 
As  when,  with  inward  fires  and  pain, 
It  rose  a  bubble  from  the  plain. 
When  he  cometh,  I  shall  shed, 
From  this  wellspring  in  my  head, 
Fountain-drop  of  spicier  worth 
Than  all  vintage  of  the  earth. 
There's  fruit  upon  my  barren  soil 
Costlier  far  than  wine  or  oil. 
There's  a  berry  blue  and  gold, — 
Autumn-ripe,  its  juices  hold 
Sparta's  stoutness,  Bethlehem's  heart, 
Asia's  rancor,  Athens'  art, 
Slowsure  Britain's  secular  might, 
And  the  German's  inward  sight. 
I  will  give  my  son  to  eat 
Best  of  Pan's  immortal  meat, 
Bread  to  eat,  and  juice  to  drink  ; 
So  the  thoughts  that  he  shall  think 
Shall  not  be  forms  of  stars,  but  stars, 
Nor  pictures  pale,  but  Jove  and  Mars. 


109 


110 


MONADNOC. 


He  comes,  but  not  of  that  race  bred 

Who  daily  climb  my  specular  head. 

Oft  as  morning  wreathes  my  scarf, 

Fled  the  last  plumule  of  the  Dark, 

Pants  up  hither  the  spruce  clerk 

From  South  Cove    and  City  Wharf. 

I  take  him  up  my  rugged  sides, 

Half-repentant,  scant  of  breath,  — 

Bead-eyes  my  granite  chaos  show, 

And  my  midsummer  snow ; 

Open  the  daunting  map  beneath, — 

All  his  county,  sea  and  land, 

Dwarfed  to  measure  of  his  hand  ; 

His  day's  ride  is  a  furlong  space, 

His  city-tops  a  glimmering  haze. 

I  plant  his  eyes  on  the  sky-hoop  bounding 

"  See  there  the  grim  gray  rounding 

Of  the  bullet  of  the  earth 

Whereon  ye  sail, 

Tumbling  steep 

In  the  uncontinented  deep." 

He  looks  on  that,  and  he  turns  pale. 


MONADNOC.  H  J 

'Tis  even  so;  this  treacherous  kite, 
Farm-furrowed,  town-incrusted  sphere, 
Thoughtless  of  its  anxious  freight, 
Plunges  eyeless  on  forever ; 
And  he,  poor  parasite, 
Cooped  in  a  ship  he  cannot  steer, — 
Who  is  the  captain  he  knows  not, 
Port  or  pilot  trows  not,  — 
Risk  or  ruin  he  must  share. 
I  scowl  on  him  with  my  cloud, 
With  my  north  wind  chill  his  blood  ; 
I  lame  him,  clattering  down  the  rocks ; 
And  to  live  he  is  in  fear. 
Then,  at  last,  I  let  him  down 
Once  more  into  his  dapper  town, 
To  chatter,  frightened,  to  his  clan, 
And  forget  me  if  he  can.' 

As  in  the  old  poetic  fame 

The  gods  are  blind  and  lame, 

And  the  simular  despite 

Betrays  the  more  abounding  might, 


112  MONADNOC. 

So  call  not  waste  that  barren  cone 

Above  the  floral  zone, 

Where  forests  starve  : 

It  is  pure  use;  — 

What  sheaves  like  those  which  here  we  glean 

and  bind 
Of  a  celestial  Ceres  and  the  Muse  ? 

Ages  are  thy  days, 

Thou  grand  expresser  of  the  present  tense, 

And  type  of  permanence  ! 

Firm  ensign  of  the  fatal  Being, 

Amid  these  coward  shapes  of  joy  and  grief, 

That  will  not  bide  the  seeing ! 

Hither  we  bring 

Our  insect  miseries  to  the  rocks; 

And  the  whole  flight,  with  pestering  wing, 

Vanish,  and  end  their  murmuring,  — 

Vanish  beside  these  dedicated  blocks, 

Which  who  can  tell  what  mason  laid? 

Spoils  of  a  front  none  need  restore, 


MONADNOC.  ,     113 

Replacing  frieze  and  architrave;  — 

Yet  flowers  each  stone  rosette  and  metope  brave; 

Still  is  the  haughty  pile  erect 

Of  the  old  building  Intellect. 

Complement  of  human  kind, 
Having  us  at  vantage  still, 
Our  sumptuous  indigence, 
O  barren  mound,  thy  plenties  fill ! 
We  fool  and  prate; 
Thou  art  silent  and  sedate. 
To  myriad  kinds  and  times  one  sense 
The  constant  mountain  doth  dispense; 
Shedding  on  all  its  snows  and  leaves, 
One  joy  it  joys,  one  grief  it  grieves. 
Thou  seest,  O  watchman  tall, 
Our  towns  and  races  grow  and  fall, 
And  imagest  the  stable  good 
For  which  we  all  our  lifetime  grope, 
In  shifting  form  the  formless  mind, 
And  though  the  substance  us  elude, 
We  in  thee  the  shadow  find. 
8 


1 14  MONADNOC. 

Thou,  in  our  astronomy 

An  opaker  star, 

Seen  haply  from  afar, 

Above  the  horizon's  hoop, 

A  moment,  by  the  railway  'troop, 

As  o'er  some  bolder  height  they  speed, 

By  circumspect  ambition, 

By  errant  gain, 

By  feasters  and  the  frivolous, — 

Recallest  us, 

And  makest  sane. 

Mute  orator!  well  skilled  to  plead, 

And  send  conviction  without  phrase, 

Thou  dost  supply 

The  shortness  of  our  days, 

And  promise,  on  thy  Founder's  truth, 

Long  morrow  to  this  mortal  youth. 


115 


FABLE. 


THE  mountain  and  the  squirrel 

Had  a  quarrel ; 

And  the  former  called  the  latter  '  Little  Prig, 

Bun  replied, 

'  You  are  doubtless  very  big  ; 

But  all  sorts  of  things  and  weather 

Must  be  taken  in  together, 

To  make  up  a  year 

And  a  sphere. 

And  I  think  it  no  disgrace 

To  occupy  my  place. 

If  I'm  riot  so  large  as  you, 

You  are  not  so  small  as  I, 

And  not  half  so  spry. 

I'll  not  deny  you  make 


FABLE. 


A  very  pretty  squirrel  track; 
Talents  differ;  all  is  well  and  wisely  put; 
If  I  cannot  carry  forests  on  my  back, 
Neither  can  you  crack  a  nut.' 


117 


ODE, 


INSCRIBED    TO    W.    H.    CHANNING. 


THOUGH  loath  to  grieve 
The  evil  time's  sole  patriot, 
I  cannot  leave 
My  honied  thought 
For  the  priest's  cant, 
Or  statesman's  rant. 

If  I  refuse 

My  study  for  their  politique, 

Which  at  the  best  is  trick, 

The  angry  Muse 

Puts  confusion  in  my  brain. 

But  who  is  he  that  prates 
Of  the  culture  of  mankind, 


1 18  ODE. 

Of  better  arts  and  life? 
Go,  blindworm,  go, 
Behold  the  famous  States 
Harrying  Mexico 
With  rifle  and  with  knife! 

Or  who,  with  accent  bolder, 

Dare  praise  the  freedom-loving  mountaineer? 

I  found  by  thee,  O  rushing  Contoocook  ! 

And  in  thy  valleys,  Agiochook  ! 

The  jackals  of  the  negro-holder. 

The  God  who  made  New  Hampshire 

Taunted  the  lofty  land 

With  little  men;  — 

Small  bat  and  wren 

House  in  the  oak  :  — 

If  earth-fire  cleave 

The  upheaved  land,  and  bury  the  folk, 

The  southern  crocodile  would  grieve. 


ODE.  119 


Virtue  palters;  Right  is  hence; 
Freedom  praised,  but  hid ; 
Funeral  eloquence 
Rattles  the  coffin-lid. 

What  boots  thy  zeal, 
O  glowing  friend, 
That  would  indignant  rend 
The  northland  from  the  south? 
Wherefore  ?  to  what  good  end  ? 
Boston  Bay  and  Bunker  Hill 
Would  serve  things  still ;  — 
Things  are  of  the  snake. 

The  horseman  serves  the  horse, 
The  neatherd  serves  the  neat, 
The  merchant  serves  the  purse, 
The  eater  serves  his  meat; 
'Tis  the  day  of  the  chattel, 
Web  to  weave,  and  corn  to  grind ; 
Things  are  in  the  saddle, 
And  ride  mankind. 


120  ODE. 

There  are  two  laws  discrete, 

Not  reconciled,  — 

Law  for  man,  and  law  for  thing- 

The  last  builds  town  and  fleet, 

But  it  runs  wild, 

And  doth  the  man  unking. 

'Tis  fit  the  forest  fall, 
The  steep  be  graded, 
The  mountain  tunnelled, 
The  sand  shaded, 
The  orchard  planted, 
The  glebe  tilled, 
The  prairie  granted, 
The  steamer  built. 

Let  man  serve  law  for  man  ; 
Live  for  friendship,  live  for  love, 
For  truth's  and  harmony's  behoof; 
The  state  may  follow  how  it  can, 
As  Olympus  follows  Jove. 


ODE.  121 

Yet  do  not  I  implore 

The  wrinkled  shopman  to  my  sounding  woods, 
Nor  bid  the  unwilling  senator 
Ask  votes  of  thrushes  in  the  solitudes. 
Every  one  to  his  chosen  work ;  — 
Foolish  hands  may  mix  and  mar; 
Wise  and  sure  the  issues  are. 
Round  they  roll  till  dark  is  light, 
Sex  to  sex,  and  even  to  odd;  — 
The  over-god 

Who  marries  Right  to  Might, 
Who  peoples,  unpeoples, — 
He  who  exterminates 
Races  by  stronger  races, 
Black  by  white  faces,  — 
Knows  to  bring  honey 
Out  of  the  lion  ; 
Grafts  gentlest  scion 
On  pirate  and  Turk. 

The  Cossack  eats  Poland, 
Like  stolen  fruit; 


122  ODE. 

Her  last  noble  is  ruined, 

Her  last  poet  mute: 

Straight,  into  double  band 

The  victors  divide; 

Half  for  freedom  strike  and  stand ;  — 

The  astonished  Muse  finds  thousands  at  her  side. 


123 


ASTR^EA. 


EACH  the  herald  is  who  wrote 

His  rank,  and  quartered  his  own  coat. 

There  is  no  king  nor  sovereign  state 

That  can  fix  a  hero's  rate; 

Each  to  all  is  venerable, 

Cap-a-pie  invulnerable, 

Until  he  write,  where  all  eyes  rest, 

Slave  or  master  on  his  breast. 

I  saw  men  go  up  and  down, 
In  the  country  and  the  town, 
With  this  tablet  on  their  neck, — 
*  Judgment  and  a  judge  we  seek.' 
Not  to  monarchs  they  repair, 
Nor  to  learned  jurist's  chair  ; 
But  they  hurry  to  their  peers, 
To  their  kinsfolk  and  their  dears; 


124  ASTR^A. 

Louder  than  with  speech  they  pray,  • 
'  What  am  1 1  companion,  say.' 
And  the  friend  not  hesitates 
To  assign  just  place  and  mates ; 
Answers  not  in  word  or  letter, 
Yet  is  understood  the  better ; 
Each  to  each  a  looking-glass, 
Reflects  his  figure  that  doth  pass. 
Every  wayfarer  he  meets 
What  himself  declared  repeats, 
What  himself  confessed  records, 
Sentences  him  in  his  words  ; 
The  form  is  his  own  corporal  form, 
And  his  thought  the  penal  worm. 

Yet  shine  forever  virgin  minds, 
Loved  by  stars  and  purest  winds, 
Which,  o'er  passion  throned  sedate, 
Have  not  hazarded  their  state; 
Disconcert  the  searching  spy, 
Rendering  to  a  curious  eye 


ASTRJEA.  125 

The  durance  of  a  granite  ledge 

To  those  who  gaze  from  the  sea's  edge. 

It  is  there  for  benefit ; 

It  is  there  for  purging  light; 

There  for  purifying  storms; 

And  its  depths  reflect  all  forms; 

It  cannot  parley  with  the  mean, — 

Pure  by  impure  is  not  seen. 

For  there's  no  sequestered  grot, 

Lone  mountain  tarn,  or  isle  forgot, 

But  Justice,  journeying  in  the  sphere, 

Daily  stoops  to  harbor  there. 


126 


ETIENNE   DE   LA   BOECE 


I  SERVE  you  not,  if  you  I  follow, 
Shadowlike,  o'er  hill  and  hollow; 
And  bend  my  fancy  to  your  leading, 
All  too  nimble  for  my  treading. 
When  the  pilgrimage  is  done, 
And  we've  the  landscape  overrun, 
I  am  bitter,  vacant,  thwarted, 
And  your  heart  is  unsupported. 
Vainly  valiant,  you  have  missed 
The  manhood  that  should  yours  resis^- 
Its  complement;  but  if  I  could, 
In  severe  or  cordial  mood, 
Lead  you  rightly  to  my  altar, 
Where  the  wisest  Muses  falter, 
And  worship  that  world-warming  spark 
Which  dazzles  me  in  midnight  dark, 


ETIENNE    DE    LA    BC)£cE.  127 

Equalizing  small  and  large, 
While  the  soul  it  doth  surcharge, 
That  the  poor  is  wealthy  grown, 
And  the  hermit  never  alone,  — 
The  traveller  and  the  road  seem  one 
With  the  errand  to  be  done,  — 
That  were  a  man's  and  lover's  part, 
That  were  Freedom's  whitest  chart. 


128 


SUUM    CUIQUE. 


THE  rain  has  spoiled  the  farmer's  day; 
Shall  sorrow  put  my  books  away? 

Thereby  are  two  days  lost : 
Nature  shall  mind  her  own  affairs; 
I  will  attend  my  proper  cares, 

In  rain,  or  sun,  or  frost. 


129 


COMPENSATION. 


WHY  should  I  keep  holiday 
When  other  men  have  none? 

Why  but  because,  when  these  are  gay, 
I  sit  and  mourn  alone? 

And  why,  when  mirth  unseals  all  tongues, 
Should  mine  alone  be  dumb? 

Ah !  late  I  spoke  to  silent  throngs, 
And  now  their  hour  is  come. 


130 


FORBEARANCE. 


HAST  thou  named  all  the  birds  without  a  gun? 

Loved  the  wood-rose,  >and  left  it  on  its  stalk  ? 

At  rich  men's  tables  eaten  bread  and  pulse? 

Unarmed,  faced  'danger  with  a  heart  of  trust  ? 

And  loved  so  well  a  high  behavior, 

In  man  or  maid,  that  thou  from  speech  refrained, 

Nobility  more  nobly  to  repay? 

O,  be  mV  friend,  and  teach  me  to  be  thine  ! 


131 


THE    PARK. 


THE  prosperous  and  beautiful 

To  me  seem  not  to  wear 
The  yoke  of  conscience    masterful, 

Which  galls  me  everywhere 

I  cannot  shake  off  the  god  ; 

On  rny  neck  he  makes  his  seat; 
I  look  at  my  face  in  the  glass,  — 

My  eyes  his  eyeballs  meet. 

Enchanters !  enchantresses ! 

Your  gold  makes  you  seem  wise; 
The  morning  mist  within  your  grounds 

More  proudly  rolls,  more  softly  lies. 


132  THE    PARK. 

Yet  spake  yon  purple  mountain, 
Yet  said  yon  ancient  wood, 

That  Night  or  Day,  that  Love  or  Crime, 
Leads  all  souls  to  the  Good. 


133 


FORERUNNERS. 


LONG  I  followed  happy  guides, 
I  could  never  reach  their  sides  ; 
Their  step  is  forth,  and,  ere  the  day, 
Breaks  up  their  leaguer,  and  away. 
Keen  my  sense,  my  heart  was  young, 
Right  good-will  my  sinews  strung, 
But  no  speed  of  mine  avails 
To  hunt  upon  their  shining  trails. 
On  and  away,  their  hasting  feet 
Make  the  morning  proud  and  sweet; 
Flowers  they  strew,  —  I  catch  the  scent; 
Or  tone  of  silver  instrument 
Leaves  on  the  wind  melodious  trace; 
Yet  I  could  never  see  their  face. 
On  eastern  hills  I  see  their  smokes, 
Mixed  with  mist  by  distant  lochs. 


134  FORERUNNERS. 

I  met  many  travellers 

Who  the  road  had  surely  kept ; 

They  saw  not  my  fine  revellers, — 

These  had  crossed  them  while  they  slept. 

Some  had  heard  their  fair  report, 

In  the  country  or  the  court. 

Fleetest  couriers  alive 

Never  yet  could  once  arrive, 

As  they  went  or  they  returned, 

At  the  house  where  these  sojourned. 

Sometimes  their  strong  speed  they  slacken, 

Though  they  are  not  overtaken ; 

In  sleep  their  jubilant  troop  is  near, — 

I  tuneful  voices  overhear  ; 

It  may  be  in  wood  or  waste, — 

At  unawares  'tis  come  and  past. 

Their  near  camp  my  spirit  knows 

By  signs  gracious  as  rainbows. 

I  thenceforward,  and  long  after, 

Listen  for  their  harp-like  laughter, 

And  carry  in  my  heart,  for  days, 

Peace  that  hallows  rudest  ways. 


135 


SURSUM    CORDA. 


SEEK  not  the  spirit,  if  it  hide 

Inexorable  to  thy  zeal : 

Baby,  do  not  whine  and  chide : 

Art  thou  not  also  real? 

Why  shouldst  thou  stoop  to  poor  excuse? 

Turn  on  the  accuser  roundly ;  say, 

'  Here  am  I,  here  will  I  remain 

Forever  to  myself  soothfast; 

Go  thou,  sweet  Heaven,  or  at  thy  pleasure  stay ! 

Already  Heaven  with  thee  its  lot  has  cast, 

For  only  it  can  absolutely  deal. 


136 


ODE    TO    BEAUTY. 


WHO  gave  thee,  O  Beauty, 
The  keys  of  this  breast,  — 
Too  credulous  lover 
Of  blest  and  unblest  ? 
Say,  when  in  lapsed  ages 
Thee  knew  I  of  old  1 
Or  what  was  the  service 
For  which  I  was  sold? 
When  first  my  eyes  saw  thee, 
I  found  me  thy  thrall, 
By  magical  drawings, 
Sweet  tyrant  of  all ! 
I  drank  at  thy  fountain 
False  waters  of  thirst ; 
Thou  intimate  stranger, 
Thou  latest  and  first! 


ODE    TO    BEAUTY.  137 

Thy  dangerous  glances 
Make  women  of  men  ; 
New-born,  we  are  melting 
Into  nature  again. 

Lavish,  lavish  promiser, 
Nigh  persuading  gods  to  err  ! 
Guest  of  million  painted  forms, 
Which  in  turn  thy  glory  warms  ! 
The  frailest  leaf,  the  mossy  bark, 
The  acorn's  cup,  the  raindrop's  arc, 
The  swinging  spider's  silver  line, 
The  ruby  of  the  drop  of  wine, 
The  shining  pebble  of  the  pond, 
Thou  inscribest  with  a  bond, 
In  thy  momentary  play, 
Would  bankrupt  nature  to  repay. 

Ah,  what  avails  it 
To  hide  or  to  shun 
Whom  the  Infinite  One 
Hath  granted  his  throne  ? 


138  ODE    TO    BEAUTY. 

The  heaven  high  over 

Is  the  deep's  lover ; 

The  sun  and  sea, 

Informed  by  thee, 

Before  me  run, 

And  draw  me  on, 

Yet  fly  me  still, 

As  Fate  refuses 

To  me  the  heart  Fate  for  me  chooses. 

Is  it  that  my  opulent  soul 

Was  mingled  from  the  generous  whole  ; 

Sea-valleys  and  the  deep  of  skies 

Furnished  several  supplies; 

And  the  sands  whereof  I'm  made 

Draw  me  to  them,  self-betrayed  ? 

I  turn  the  proud  portfolios 

Which  hold  the  grand  designs 

Of  Salvator,  of  Guercino, 

And  Piranesi's  lines. 

I  hear  the  lofty  paeans 

Of  the  masters  of  the  shell, 

Who  heard  the  starry  music 


ODE    TO    BEAUTY.  139 

And  recount  the  numbers  well ; 

Olympian  bards  who  sung 

Divine  Ideas  below, 

Which  always  find  us  young, 

And  always  keep  us  so. 

Oft,  in  streets  or  humblest  places, 

I  detect  far-wandered  graces, 

Which,  from  Eden  wide  astray, 

In  lowly  homes  have  lost  their  way. 

Thee  gliding  through  the  sea  of  form, 
Like  the  lightning  through  the  storm, 
Somewhat  not  to  be  possessed, 
Somewhat  not  to  be  caressed, 
No  feet  so  fleet  could  ever  find, 
No  perfect  form  could  ever  bind. 
Thou  eternal  fugitive, 
Hovering  over  all  that  live, 
duick  and  skilful  to  inspire 
Sweet,  extravagant  desire, 
Starry  space  and  lily-bell 
Filling  with  thy  roseate  smell, 


140  ODE  TO  BEAUTY.  , 

Wilt  not  give  the  lips  to  taste 
Of  the  nectar  which  thou  hast. 

All  that's  good  and  great  with  thee 

Works  in  close  conspiracy ; 

Thou  hast  bribed  the  dark  and  lonely 

To  report  thy  features  only, 

And  the  cold  and  purple  morning 

Itself  with  thoughts  of  thee  adorning ; 

The  leafy  dell,  the  city  mart, 

Equal  trophies  of  thine  art  ; 

E'en  the  flowing  azure  air 

Thou  hast  touched  for  my  despair; 

And,  if  I  languish  into  dreams, 

Again  I  meet  the  ardent  beams. 

Queen  of  things !  I  dare  not  die 

In  Being's  deeps  past  ear  and  eye; 

Lest  there  I  find  the  same  deceiver, 

And  be  the  sport  of  Fate  forever. 

Dread  Power,  but  dear !  if  God  thou  be, 

Unmake  me  quite,  or  give  thyself  to  me ! 


141 


GIVE   ALL    TO    LOVE 


GIVE  all  to  love  ; 

Obey  thy  heart; 

Friends,  kindred,  days, 

Estate,  good-fame, 

Plans,  credit,  and  the  Muse, 

Nothing  refuse. 

'Tis  a  brave  master; 
Let  it  have  scope : 
Follow  it  utterly, 
Hope  beyond  hope  : 
High  and  more  high 
It  dives  into  noon, 
With  wing  unspent, 
Untold  intent; 


142  GIVE   ALL    TO    LOVE. 

But  it  is  a  god, 

Knows  its  own  path,. 

And  the  outlets  of  the  sky. 

It  was  not  for  the  mean; 
It  requireth  courage  stout, 
Souls  above  doubt, 
Valor  unbending ; 
Such  'twill  reward, — 
They  shall  return 
More  than  they  were, 
And  ever  ascending. 

Leave  all  for  love; 

Yet,  hear  me,  yet, 

One  word  more  thy  heart  behoved, 

One  pulse  more  of  firm  endeavor,  — 

Keep  thee  to-day; 

To-morrow,  forever, 

Free  as  an  Arab 

Of  thy  beloved. 


GIVE   ALL    TO    LOVE.  143 

Cling  with  life  to  the  maid; 

But  when  the  surprise, 

First  vague  shadow  of  surmise 

Flits  across  her  bosom  young 

Of  a  joy  apart  from  thee, 

Free  be  she,  fancy-free; 

Nor  thou  detain  her  vesture's  hem, 

Nor  the  palest  rose  she  flung 

From  her  summer  diadem. 

Though  thou  loved  her  as  thyself 
As  a  self  of  purer  clay, 
Though  her  parting  dims  the  da- 
Stealing  grace  from  all  alive; 
Heartily  know, 
When  half-gods  go, 
The  gods  arrive. 


144 


TO   ELLEN, 


AT    THE    SOUTH. 


THE  green  grass  is  bowing, 
The  morning  wind  is  in  it; 

'Tis  a  tune  worth  thy  knowing, 
Though  it  change  every  minute. 

'Tis  a  tune  of  the  spring ; 

Every  year  plays  it  over 
To  the  robin  on  the  wing, 

And  to  the  pausing  lover. 


O'er  ten  thousand,  thousand  acres, 
Goes  light  the  nimble  zephyr ; 

The  Flowers  — tiny  sect  of  Shakers 
Worship  him  ever. 


TO    ELLEN.  145 

Hark  to  the  winning  sound ! 

They  summon  thee,  dearest,  — 
Saying,  *  We  have  dressed  for  thee  the  ground, 

Nor  yet  thou  appearest. 

'  O  hasten ;  'tis  our  time, 

Ere  yet  the  red  Summer 
Scorch  our  delicate  prime, 

Loved  of  bee,  —  the  tawny  hummer. 

*  O  pride  of  thy  race  ! 

Sad,  in  sooth,  it  were  to  ours, 
If  our  brief  tribe  miss  thy  face, 
We  poor  New  England  flowers. 

'  Fairest,  choose  the  fairest  members 

Of  our  lithe  society ; 
June's  glories  and  September's 

Show  our  love  and  piety. 

*  Thou  shalt  command  us  all,  — 

April's  cowslip,  summer's  clover, 
10 


146  TO    ELLEN. 

To  the  gentian  in  the  fall, 

Blue-eyed  pet  of  blue-eyed  lover. 

'O  come,  then,  quickly  come! 

We  are  budding,  we  are  blowing; 
And  the  wind  that  we  perfume 

Sings  a  tune  that's  worth  the  knowing/ 


147 


TO    EVA. 


O  FAIR  and  stately  maid,  whose  eyes 
Were  kindled  in  the  upper  skies 

At  the  same  torch  that  lighted  mine; 
For  so  I  must  interpret  still 
Thy  sweet  dominion  o'er  my  will, 

A  sympathy  divine. 

Ah !  let  me  blameless  gaze  upon 
Features  that  seem  at  heart  my  own; 

Nor  fear  those  watchful  sentinels, 
Who  charm  the  more  their  glance  forbids, 
Chaste-glowing,  underneath  their  lids, 

With  fire  that  draws  while  it  repels 


148 


THE   AMULET 


YOUR  picture  smiles  as  first  it  smiled; 

The  ring  you  gave  is  still  the  same ; 
Your  letter  tells,  O  changing  child ! 

No  tidings  since  it  came. 

Give  me  an  amulet 

That  keeps  intelligence  with  you, — 
Red  when  you  love,  and  rosier  red, 

And  when  you  love  not,  pale  and  blue. 

Alas !  that  neither  bonds  nor  vows 

Can  certify  possession ; 
Torments  me  still  the  fear  that  love 

Died  in  its  last  expression. 


149 


THINE    EYES    STILL    SHINED 


THINE  eyes  still  shined  for  me,  though  far 
I  lonely  roved  the  land  or  sea : 

As  I  behold  yon  evening  star, 
Which  yet  beholds  not  me. 

This  morn  I  climbed  the  misty  hill, 
And  roamed  the  pastures  through; 

How  danced  thy  form  before  my  path 
Amidst  the  deep-eyed  dew  ! 

When  the  redbird  spread  his  sable  wing, 
And  showed  his  side  of  flame ; 

When  the  rosebud  ripened  to  the  rose, 
In  both  I  read  thy  name. 


EROS. 


THE  sense  of  the  world  is  short,  — 
Long  and  various  the  report, — 

To  love  and  be  beloved; 
Men  and  gods  have  not  outlearned  it; 
And,  how  oft  soe'er  they've  turned  it, 

'Tis  not  to  be  improved. 


151 


HERMIONE. 


ON  a  mound  an  Arab  lay, 

And  sung  his  sweet  regrets, 

And  told  his  amulets : 

The  summer  bird 

His  sorrow  heard, 

And,  when  he  heaved  a  sigh  profound, 

The  sympathetic  swallow  swept  the  ground. 

'  If  it  be,  as  they  said,  she  was  not  fair, 

Beauty  's  not  beautiful  to  me, 

But  sceptred  genius,  aye  inorbed, 

Culminating  in  her  sphere. 

This  Hermione  absorbed 

The  lustre  of  the  land  and  ocean, 

Hills  and  islands,  cloud  and  tree, 

In  her  form  and  motion 


152 


HERBIIONE. 

'  I  ask  no  bawble  miniature, 
Nor  ringlets  dead 
Shorn  from  her  comely  head, 
Now  that  morning  not  disdains 
Mountains  and  the  misty  plains 
Her  colossal  portraiture; 
They  her  heralds  be, 
Steeped  in  her  quality, 
And  singers  of  her  fame 
Who  is  their  Muse  and  dame. 

'  Higher,  dear  swallows !  mind  not  what  I  say. 

Ah !  heedless  how  the  weak  are  strong, 

Say,  was  it  just, 

In  thee  to  frame,  in  me  to  trust, 

Thou  to  the  Syrian  couldst  belong? 

I  am  of  a  lineage 

That  each  for  each  doth  fast  engage; 
In  old  Bassora's  schools,  I  seemed 
Hermit  vowed  to  books  and  gloom, — 


HERMIONE.  153 

111- bested  for  gay  bridegroom. 
I  was  by  thy  touch  redeemed  ; 
When  thy  meteor  glances  came, 
We  talked  at  large  of  worldly  fate, 
And  drew  truly  every  trait. 

Once  I  dwelt  apart, 

Now  I  live  with  all ; 

As  shepherd's  lamp  on  far  hill-side 

Seems,  by  the  traveller  espied, 

A  door  into  the  mountain  heart, 

So  didst  thou  quarry  and  unlock 

Highways  for  me  through  the  rock. 

Now,  deceived,  thou  wanderest 

In  strange  lands  unblest  ; 

And  my  kindred  come  to  soothe  me. 

Southwind  is  my  next  of  blood  ; 

He  is  come  through  fragrant  wood, 

Drugged  with  spice  from  climates  warm, 

And  in  every  twinkling  glade, 


154  HERMIONE. 

And  twilight  nook, 

Unveils  thy  form. 

Out  of  the  forest  way 

Forth  paced  it  yesterday ; 

And  when  I  sat  by  the  watercourse, 

Watching  the  daylight  fade, 

It  throbbed  up  from  the  brook. 

*  River,  and  rose,  and  crag,  and  bird, 

Frost,  and  sun,  and  eldest  night, 

To  me  their  aid  preferred, 

To  me  their  comfort  plight ;  — 

"  Courage !  we  are  thine  allies, 

And  with  this  hint  be  wise,  — 

The  chains  of  kind 

The  distant  bind ; 

Deed  thou  doest  she  must  do, 

Above  her  will,  be  true; 

And,  in  her  strict  resort 

To  winds  and  waterfalls, 

And  autumn's  sunlit  festivals, 

To  music,  and  to  music's  thought, 


HERMIONE.  155 

Inextricably  bound, 
She  shall  find  thee,  and  be  found. 
Follow  not  her  flying  feet; 
Come  to  us  herself  to  meet.*' ' 


156 


INITIAL,    DEMONIC,    AND 
CELESTIAL    LOVE. 


I. 

THE  INITIAL  LOVE. 

VENUS,  when  her  son  was  lost, 
Cried  him  up  and  down  the  coast, 
In  hamlets,  palaces,  and  parks, 
And  told  the  truant  by  his  marks, — 
Golden  curls,  and  quiver,  and  bow. 
This  befell  long  ago. 
Time  and  tide  are  strangely  changed, 
Men  and  manners  much  deranged : 
None  will  now  find  Cupid  latent 
By  this  foolish  antique  patent. 
He  came  late  along  the  waste, 
Shod  like  a  traveller  for  haste; 


THE    INITIAL    LOVE.  157 

With  malice  dared  me  to  proclaim  him, 
That  the  maids  and  boys  might  name  him. 

Boy  no  more,  he  wears  all  coats, 

Frocks,  and  blouses,  capes,  capotes; 

He  bears  no  bow,  or  quiver,  or  wand, 

Nor  chaplet  on  his  head  or  hand. 

Leave  his  weeds  and  heed  his  eyes,  — 

All  the  rest  he  can  disguise. 

In  the  pit  of  his  eye  's  a  spark 

Would  bring  back  day  if  it  were  dark  ; 

And,  if  I  tell  you  all  my  thought, 

Though  I  comprehend  it  not, 

In  those  unfathomable  orbs 

Every  function  he  absorbs. 

He  doth  eat,  and  drink,  and  fish,  and  shoot, 

And  write,  and  reason,  and  compute, 

And  ride,  and  run,  and  have,  and  hold, 

And  whine,  and  flatter,  and  regret, 

And  kiss,  and  couple,  and  beget, 

By  those  roving  eyeballs  bold. 


158  THE    INITIAL    LOVE. 

Undaunted  are  their  courages, 

Right  Cossacks  in  their  forages; 

Fleeter  they  than  any  creature,  — 

They  are  his  steeds,  and  not  his  feature; 

Inquisitive,  and  fierce,  and  fasting, 

Restless,  predatory,  hasting; 

And  they  pounce  on  other  eyes 

As  lions  on  their  prey; 

And  round  their  circles  is  writ, 

Plainer  than  the  day, 

Underneath,  within,  above,  — 

Love  —  love  — love  —  love. 

He  lives  in  his  eyes; 

There  doth  digest,  and  work,  and  spin, 

And  buy,  and  sell,  and  lose,  and  win; 

He  rolls  them  with  delighted  motion, 

Joy-tides  swell  their  mimic  ocean. 

Yet  holds  he  them  with  tortest  rein, 

That  they  may  seize  and  entertain 

The  glance  that  to  their  glance  opposes, 

Like  fiery  honey  sucked  from  roses. 


THE    INITIAL    LOVE.  159 

He  palmistry  can  understand, 

Imbibing  virtue  by  his  hand 

As  if  it  were  a  living  root ; 

The  pulse  of  hands  will  make  him  mute ; 

With  all  his  force  he  gathers  balms 

Into  those  wise,  thrilling  palms. 

Cupid  is  a  casuist, 

A  mystic,  and  a  cabalist, — 

Can  your  lurking  thought  surprise, 

And  interpret  your  device. 

He  is  versed  in  occult  science, 

In  magic,  and  in  clairvoyance; 

Oft  he  keeps  his  fine  ear  strained, 

And  Reason  on  her  tiptoe  pained 

For  aery  intelligence, 

And  for  strange  coincidence. 

But  it  touches  his  quick  heart 

When  Fate  by  omens  takes  his  part, 

And  chance-dropped  hints  from  Nature's  sphere 

Deeply  soothe  his  anxious  ear. 


160  THE    INITIAL    LOVE. 

Heralds  high  before  him  run  ; 

He  has  ushers  many  a  one  ; 

He  spreads  his  welcome  where  he  goes, 

And  touches  all  things  with  his  rose. 

All  things  wait  for  and  divine  him, — 

How  shall  I  dare  to  malign  him, 

Or  accuse  the  god  of  sport  ? 

I  must  end  my  true  report, 

Painting  him  from  head  to  foot, 

In  as  far  as  I  took  note, 

Trusting  well  the  matchless  power 

Of  this  young-eyed  emperor 

Will  clear  his  fame  from  every  cloud, 

With  the  bards  and  with  the  crowd. 

He  is  wilful,  mutable, 
Shy,  untamed,  inscrutable, 
Swifter-fashioned  than  the  fairies, 
Substance  mixed  of  pure  contraries ; 
His  vice  some  elder  virtue's  token, 
And  his  good  is  evil-spoken. 


THE    INITIAL    LOVE.  161 

Failing  sometimes  of  his  own, 

He  is  headstrong  and  alone; 

He  affects  the  wood  and  wild, 

Like  a  flower-hunting  child  ; 

Buries  himself  in  summer  waves, 

In  trees,  with  beasts,  in  mines,  and  caves; 

Loves  nature  like  a  horned  cow, 

Bird,  or  deer,  or  caribou. 

Shun  him,  nymphs,  on  the  fleet  horses! 
He  has  a  total  world  of  wit ; 
O  how  wise  are  his  discourses ! 
But  he  is  the  arch-hypocrite, 
And,  through  all  science  and  all  art, 
Seeks  alone  his  counterpart. 
He  is  a  Pundit  of  the  East, 
He  is  an  augur  and  a  priest, 
And  his  soul  will  melt  in  prayer, 
But  word  and  wisdom  is  a  snare ; 
Corrupted  by  the  present  toy 
He  follows  joy,  and  only  joy. 
11 


162  THE    INITIAL    LOVE. 

There  is  no  mask  but  he  will  wear; 
He  invented  oaths  to  swear  ; 
He  paints,  he  carves,  he  chants,  he  prays, 
And  holds  all  stars  in  his  embrace, 
Godlike,  —  but  'tis  for  his  fine  pelf, 
The  social  quintessence  of  self. 
•Well  said  I  he  is  hypocrite, 
And  folly  the  end  of  his  subtle  wit ! 
He  takes  a  sovran  privilege 
Not  allowed  to  any  liege; 
For  he  does  go  behind  all  law, 
And  right  into  himself  does  draw ; 
For  he  is  sovereignly  allied, — 
Heaven's  oldest  blood  flows  in  his  side, — 
And  interchangeably  at  one 
With  every  king  on  every  throne, 
That  no  god  dare  say  him  nay, 
Or  see  the  fault,  or  seen  betray  : 
He  has  the  Muses  by  the  heart, 
And  the  Parcse  all  are  of  his  part. 


THE    INITIAL    LOVE.  163 

His  many  signs  cannot  be  told; 

He  has  not  one  mode,  but  manifold,  — 

Many  fashions  and  addresses, 

Piques,  reproaches,  hurts,  caresses, 

Arguments,  lore,  poetry, 

Action,  service,  badinage ; 

He  will  preach  like  a  friar, 

And  jump  like  Harlequin ; 

He  will  read  like  a  crier, 

And  fight  like  a  Paladin. 

Boundless  is  his  memory ; 

Plans  immense  his  term  prolong; 

He  is  not  of  counted  age, 

Meaning  always  to  be  young. 

And  his  wish  is  intimacy, 

Intimater  intimacy, 

And  a  stricter  privacy; 

The  impossible  shall  yet  be  done, 

And,  being  two,  shall  still  be  one. 

As  the  wave  breaks  to  foam  on  shelves, 

Then  runs  into  a  wave  again, 


164  THE    DJEMONIC   AND 

So  lovers  melt  their  sundered  selves, 
Yet  melted  would  be  twain. 


II. 

THE    DAEMONIC   AND   THE   CELESTIAL   LOVE. 

MAN  was  made  of  social  earth, 
Child  and  brother  from  his  birth, 
Tethered  by  a  liquid  cord 
Of  blood  through  veins  of  kindred  poured. 
Next  his  heart  the  fireside  band 
Of  mother,  father,  sister,  stand  : 
Names  from  awful  childhood  heard 
Throbs  of  a  wild  religion  stirred  ;  — 
Virtue,  to  love,  to  hate  them,  vice; 
Till  dangerous  Beauty  came,  at  last, 
Till  Beauty  came  to  snap  all  ties ; 
The  maid,  abolishing  the  past, 


THE    CELESTIAL    LOVE.  165 

With  lotus  wine  obliterates 
Dear  memory's  stone-incarved  traits, 
And,  by  herself,  supplants  alone 
Friends  year  by  year  more  inly  known. 
When  her  calm  eyes  opened  bright, 
All  were  foreign  in  their  light. 
It  was  ever  the  self-same  tale, 
The  first  experience  will  not  fail ; 
Only  two  in  the  garden  walked, 
And  with  snake  and  seraph  talked. 

But  God  said, 
1 1  will  have  a  purer  gift ; 
There  is  smoke  in  the  flame ; 
New  flowerets  bring,  new  prayers  uplift, 
And  love  without  a  name. 
Fond  children,  ye  desire 
To  please  each  other  well ; 
Another  round,  a  higher, 
Ye  shall  climb  on  the  heavenly  stair, 
And  selfish  preference  forbear ; 


'66  THE    DAEMONIC    AND 

And  in  right  deserving, 
And  without  a  swerving 
Each  from  your  proper  state, 
Weave  roses  for  your  mate. 

*  Deep,  deep  are  loving  eyes, 

Flowed  with  naphtha  fiery  sweet ; 

And  the  point  is  paradise, 

Where  their  glances  meet: 

Their  reach  shall  yet  be  more  profound, 

And  a  vision  without  bound ; 

The  axis  of  those  eyes  sun-clear 

Be  the  axis  of  the  sphere  : 

So  shall  the  lights  ye  pour  amain 

Go,  without  check  or  intervals, 

Through  from  the  empyrean  walls 

Unto  the  same  again.' 

Close,  close  to  men, 

Like  undulating  layer  of  air, 

Right  above  their  heads, 

The  potent  plain  of  Daemons  spreads. 


THE    CELESTIAL    LOVE.  16? 

Stands  to  each  human  soul  its  own, 

For  watch,  and  ward,  and  furtherance, 

In  the  snares  of  Nature's  dance ; 

And  the  lustre  and  the  grace 

To  fascinate  each  youthful  heart, 

Beaming  from  its  counterpart, 

Translucent  through  the  mortal  covers, 

Is  the  Demon's  form  and  face. 

To  and  fro  the  Genius  hies,  — 

A  gleam  which  plays  and  hovers 

Over  the  maiden's  head, 

And  dips  sometimes  as  low  as  to  her  eyes 

Unknown^  albeit  lying  near, 

To  men,  the  path  to  the  Dsemon  sphere; 

And  they  that  swiftly  come  and  go 

Leave  no  track  on  the  heavenly  snow. 

Sometimes  the  airy  synod  bends, 

And  the  mighty  choir  descends, 

And  the  brains  of  men  thenceforth, 

In  crowded  and  in  still  resorts, 

Teem  with  unwonted  thoughts: 


168  THE    DAEMONIC    AND 

As,  when  a  shower  of  meteors 
Cross  the  orbit  of  the  earth, 
And,  lit  by  fringent  air, 
Blaze  near  and  far, 
Mortals  deem  the  planets  bright 
Have  slipped  their  sacred  bars, 
And  the  lone  seaman  all  the  night 
Sails,  astonished,  amid  stars. 

Beauty  of  a  richer  vein, 

Graces  of  a  subtler  strain, 

Unto  men  these  moonmen  lend, 

And  our  shrinking  sky  extenc^. 

So  is  man's  narrow  path 

By  strength  and  terror  skirted; 

Also,  (from  the  song  the  wrath 

Of  the  Genii  be  averted ! 

The  Muse  the  truth  uncolored  speaking,) 

The  Daemons  are  self-seeking: 

Their  fierce  and  limitary  will 

Draws  men  to  their  likeness  still. 


THE    CELESTIAL    LOVE.  169 

The  erring  painter  made  Love  blind,  — 

Highest  Love  who  shines  on  all ; 

Him,  radiant,  sharpest-sighted  god, 

None  can  bewilder; 

Whose  eyes  pierce 

The  universe, 

Path-finder,  road-builder, 

Mediator,  royal  giver  ; 

Rightly  seeing,  rightly  seen, 

Of  joyful  and  transparent  mien. 

'Tis  a  sparkle  passing 

From  each  to  each,  from  thee  to  me, 

To  and  fro  perpetually  ; 

Sharing  all,  daring  all, 

Levelling,  displacing 

Each  obstruction,  it  unites 

Equals  remote,  and  seeming  opposites. 

And  ever  and  forever  Love 

Delights  to  build  a  road : 

Unheeded  Danger  near  him  strides, 

Love  laughs,  and  on  a  lion  rides. 


170  THE    DAEMONIC    AND 

But  Cupid  wears  another  face, 

Born  into  Daemons  less  divine: 

His  roses  bleach  apace, 

His  nectar  smacks  of  wine. 

The  Dsemon  ever  builds  a  wall, 

Himself  encloses  and  includes, 

Solitude  in  solitudes : 

In  like  sort  his  love  doth  fall. 

He  is  an  oligarch ; 

He  prizes  wonder,  fame,  and  mark, 

He  loveth  crowns  ; 

He  scorneth  drones ; 

He  doth  elect 

The  beautiful  and  fortunate, 

And  the  sons  of  intellect, 

And  the  souls  of  ample  fate, 

Who  the  Future's  gates  unbar, — 

Minions  of  the  Morning  Star. 

In  his  prowess  he  exults, 

And  the  multitude  insults. 

His  impatient  looks  devour 

Oft  the  humble  and  the  poor ; 


THE    CELESTIAL    LOVE.  17J 

And,  seeing  his  eye  glare, 

They  drop  their  few  pale  flowers, 

Gathered  with  hope  to  please, 

Along  the  mountain  towers, — 

Lose  courage,  and  despair. 

He  will  never  be  gainsaid,  — 

Pitiless,  will  not  be  stayed ; 

His  hot  tyranny 

Burns  up  every  other  tie. 

Therefore  comes  an  hour  from  Jove 

Which  his  ruthless  will  defies, 

And  the  dogs  of  Fate  unties. 

Shiver  the  palaces  of  glass ; 

Shrivel  the  rainbow-colored  walls, 

Where  in  bright  Art  each  god  and  sibyl  dwelt, 

Secure  as  in  the  zodiac's  belt; 

And  the  galleries  and  halls, 

Wherein  every  siren  sung, 

Like  a  meteor  pass. 

For  this  fortune  wanted  root 

In  the  core  of  God's  abysm,  — 

Was  a  weed  of  self  and  schism ; 


172  THE    DEMONIC   AND 

And  ever  the  Daemonic  Love 
Is  the  ancestor  of  wars, 
And  the  parent  of  remorse. 


III. 

HIGHER  far, 

Upward  into  the  pure  realm, 

Over  sun  and  star, 

Over  the  flickering  Daemon  film, 

Thou  must  mount  for  love; 

Into  vision  where  all  form 

In  one  only  form  dissolves; 

In  a  region  where  the  wheel 

On  which  all  beings  ride 

Visibly  revolves ; 

Where  the  starred,  eternal  worm 

Girds  the  world  with  bound  and  term ; 

Where  unlike  things  are  like ; 

Where  good  and  ill, 

And  joy  and  moan, 

Melt  'nto  one. 


THE   CELESTIAL    LOVE.  175 

There  Past,  Present,  Future  shoot 

Triple  blossoms  from  one  root ; 

Substances  at  base  divided 

In  their  summits  are  united  ; 

There  the  holy  essence  rolls, 

One  through  separated  souls; 

And  the  sunny  ^Eon  sleeps 

Folding  Nature  in  its  deeps 

And  every  fair  and  every  good, 

Known  in  part,  or  known  impure, 

To  men  below, 

In  their  archetypes  endure. 

The  race  of  gods, 

Or  those  we  erring  own, 

Are  shadows  flitting  up  and  down 

In  the  still  abodes. 

The  circles  of  that  sea  are  laws 

Which  publish  and  which  hide  the  cause. 

Pray  for  a  beam 

Out  of  that  sphere, 

Thee  to  guide  and  to  redeem. 


174  THE    CELESTIAL    LOVE. 

O,  what  a  load 

Of  care  and  toil, 

By  lying  use  bestowed, 

From  his  shoulders  falls  who  sees 

The  true  astronomy, 

The  period  of  peace. 

Counsel  which  the  ages  kept 

Shall  the  well-born  soul  accept. 

As  the  overhanging  trees 

Fill  the  lake  with  images, — 

As  garment  draws  the  garment's  hem, 

Men  their  fortunes  bring  with  them. 

By  right  or  wrong, 

Lands  and  goods  go  to  the  strong. 

Property  will  brutely  draw 

Still  to  the  proprietor ; 

Silver  to  silver  creep  and  wind, 

And  kind  to  kind. 

Nor  less  the  eternal  poles 
Of  tendency  distribute  souls. 


THE    CELESTIAL    LOVE. 

There  need  no  vows  to  bind 
Whom  not  each  other  seek,  but  find. 
They  give  and  take  no  pledge  or  oath, — 
Nature  is  the  bond  of  both : 
No  prayer  persuades,  no  flattery  fawns, — 
Their  noble  meanings  are  their  pawns. 
Plain  and  cold  is  their  address, 
Power  have  they  for  tenderness; 
And,  so  thoroughly  is  known 
Each  other's  counsel  by  his  own, 
They  can  parley  without  meeting; 
Need  is  none  of  forms  of  greeting ; 
They  can  well  communicate 
In  their  innermost  estate; 
When  each  the  other  shall  avoid, 
'  Shall  each  by  each  be  most  enjoyed. 

Not  with  scarfs  or  perfumed  gloves 
Do  these  celebrate  their  loves; 
Not  by  jewels,  feasts,  and  savors, 
Not  by  ribbons  or  by  favors, 


175 


176  THE    CELESTIAL    LOVE. 

But  by  the  sun-spark  on  the  sea, 
And  the  cloud-shadow  on  the  lea, 
The  soothing  lapse  of  morn  to  mirk, 
And  the  cheerful  round  of  work. 
Their  cords  of  love  so  public  are, 
They  intertwine  the  farthest  star  : 
The  throbbing  sea,  the  quaking  earth, 
Yield  sympathy  and  signs  of  mirth; 
Is  none  so  high,  so  mean  is  none, 
But  feels  and  seals  this  union; 
Even  the  fell  Furies  are  appeased, 
The  good  applaud,  the  lost  are  eased. 

Love's  hearts  are  faithful,  but  not  fond, 
Bound  for  the  just,  but  not  beyond; 
Not  glad,  as  the  low-loving  herd, 
Of  self  in  other  still  preferred, 
But  they  have  heartily  designed 
The  benefit  of  broad  mankind. 
And  they  serve  men  austerely, 
After  their  own  genius,  clearly, 


THE    CELESTIAL    LOVE.  177 

Without  a  false  humility ; 
For  this  is  Love's  nobility,  - 
Not  to  scatter  bread  and  gold, 
Goods  and  raiment  bought  and  sold; 
But  to  hold  fast  his  simple  sense, 
And  speak  the  speech  of  innocence, 
And  with  hand,  and  body,  and  blood, 
To  make  his  bosom-counsel  good. 
For  he  that  feeds  men  serveth  few; 
He  serves  all  who  dares  be  true. 


178 


THE    APOLOGY. 


THINK  me  not  unkind  and  rude 

That  I  walk  alone  in  grove  and  glen; 

I  go  to  the  god  of  the  wood 
To  fetch  his  word  to  men. 

Tax  not  my  sloth  that  I 

Fold  my  arms  beside  the  brook  ; 
Each  cloud  that  floated  in  the  sky 

Writes  a  letter  in  my  book. 

Chide  me  not,  laborious  band, 
For  the  idle  flowers  I  brought; 

Every  aster  in  my  hand 

Goes  home  loaded  with  a  thought. 


THE    APOLOGY.  179 

There  was  never  mystery 

But  'tis  figured  in  the  flowers ; 
Was  never  secret  history 

But  birds  tell  it  in  the  bowers. 

One  harvest  from  thy  field 

Homeward  brought  the  oxen  strong; 
A  second  crop  thine  acres  yield, 

Which  I  gather  in  a  song. 


180 


MERLIN. 
I. 


THY  trivial  harp  will  never  please 

Or  fill  my  craving  ear ; 

Its  chords  should  ring  as  blows  the  breeze, 

Free,  peremptory,  clear. 

No  jingling  serenader's  art, 

Nor  tinkle  of  piano  strings, 

Can  make  the  wild  blood  start 

In  its  mystic  springs. 

The  kingly  bard 

Must  smite  the  chords  rudely  and  hard, 

As  with  hammer  or  with  mace ; 

That  they  may  render  back 

Artful  thunder,  which  conveys 

Secrets  of  the  solar  track, 


MERLIN.  181 

Sparks  of  the  supersolar  blaze. 

Merlin's  blows  are  strokes  of  fate, 

Chiming  with  the  forest  tone, 

When  boughs  buffet  boughs  in  the  wood; 

Chiming  with  the  gasp  and  moan 

Of  the  ice-imprisoned  flood ; 

With  the  pulse  of  manly  hearts ; 

With  the  voice  of  orators ; 

With  the  din  of  city  arts ; 

With  the  cannonade  of  wars  ; 

With  the  marches  of  the  brave ; 

And  prayers  of  might  from  martyrs'   cave. 

Great  is  the  art, 

Great  be  the  manners,  of  the  bard. 

He  shall  not  his  brain  encumber 

With  the  coil  of  rhythm  and  number ; 

But,  leaving  rule  and  pale  forethought, 

He  shall  aye  climb 

For  his  rhyme. 

'  Pass  in,  pass  in,'  the  angels  say, 


182  MERLIN. 

4  In  to  the  upper  doors, 

Nor  count  compartments  of  the  floors, 

But  mount  to  paradise 

By  the  stairway  of  surprise.' 

Blameless  master  of  the  games, 
King  of  sport  that  never  shames, 
He  shall  daily  joy  dispense 
Hid  in  song's  sweet  influence. 
Things  more  cheerly  live  and  go, 
What  time  the  subtle  mind 
Sings  aloud  the  tune  whereto 
Their  pulses  beat, 
And  march  their  feet, 
And  their  members  are  combined. 

.      By  Sybarites  beguiled, 
He  shall  no  task  decline ; 
Merlin's  mighty  line 
Extremes  of  nature  reconciled,  — 
Bereaved  a  tyrant  of  his  will, 
And  made  the  lion  mild. 


MERLIN.  183 

Songs  can  the  tempest  still, 
Scattered  on  the  stormy  air, 
Mould  the  year  to  fair  increase, 
And  bring  in  poetic  peace. 

He  shall  not  seek  to  weave, 

In  weak,  unhappy  times, 

Efficacious  rhymes; 

Wait  his  returning  strength. 

Bird,  that  from  the  nadir's  floor 

To  the  zenith's  top  can  soar, 

The  soaring  orbit  of  the  muse  exceeds  that 

journey's  length. 
Nor  profane  affect  to  hit 
Or  compass  that,  by  meddling  wit, 
Which  only  the  propitious  mind 
Publishes  when  'tis  inclined. 
There  are  open  hours 
When  the  God's  will  sallies  free, 
And  the  dull  idiot  might  see 
The  flowing  fortunes  of  a  thousand  years ;  — 


184  MERLIN. 

Sudden,  at  unawares, 
Self-moved,  fly-to  the  doors, 
Nor  sword  of  angels  could  reveal 
What  they  conceal. 


185 


MERLIN. 
II. 


THE  rhyme  of  the  poet 

Modulates  the  king's  affairs ; 

Balance-loving  Nature 

Made  all  things  in  pairs. 

To  every  foot  its  antipode ; 

Each  color  with  its  counter  glowed ; 

To  every  tone  beat  answering  tones, 

Higher  or  graver; 

Flavor  gladly  blends  with  flavor; 

Leaf  answers  leaf  upon  the  bough ; 

And  match  the  paired  cotyledons. 

Hands  to  hands,  and  feet  to  feet, 

In  one  body  grooms  and  brides ; 

Eldest  rite,  two  married  sides 

In  every  mortal  meet. 


186  MERLIN. 

Light's  far  furnace  shines, 
Smelting  balls  and  bars, 
Forging  double  stars, 
Glittering  twins  and  trines. 
The  animals  are  sick  with  love, 
Lovesick  with  rhyme; 
Each  with  all  propitious  time 
Into  chorus  wove. 

Like  the  dancers'  ordered  band, 

Thoughts  come  also  hand  in  hand ; 

In  equal  couples  mated, 

Or  else  alternated; 

Adding  by  their  mutual  gage, 

One  to  other,  health  and  age. 

Solitary  fancies  go 

Short-lived  wandering  to  and  fro, 

Most  like  to  bachelors, 

Or  an  ungiven  maid, 

Not  ancestors, 

With  no  posterity  to  make  the  lie  afraid, 

Or  keep  truth  undecayed. 


MERLIN.  187 

Perfect-paired  as  eagle's  wings, 
Justice  is  the  rhyme  of  things  ; 
Trade  and  counting  use 
The  self-same  tuneful  muse ; 
And  Nemesis, 

Who  with  even  matches  odd, 
Who  athwart  space  redresses 
The  partial  wrong, 
Fills  the  just  period, 
And  finishes  the  song. 

Subtle  rhymes,  with  ruin  rife, 
Murmur  in  the  house  of  life, 
Sung  by  the  Sisters  as  they  spin ; 
In  perfect  time  and  measure  they 
Build  and  unbuild  our  echoing  clay, 
As  the  two  twilights  of  the  day 
Fold  us  music-drunken  in. 


188 


BACCHUS. 


BRING  me  wine,  but  wine  which  never  grew 

In  the  belly  of  the  grape, 

Or    grew    on    vine    whose    tap-roots,    reaching 

through 

Under  the  Andes  to  the  Cape, 
Suffered  no  savor  of  the  earth  to  scape. 

Let  its  grapes  the  morn  salute 

From  a  nocturnal  root, 

Which  feels  the  acrid  juice 

Of  Styx  and  Erebus ; 

And  turns  the  woe  of  Night, 

By  its  own  craft,  to  a  more  rich  delight. 

We  buy  ashes  for  bread; 
We  buy  diluted  wine ;  - 
Give  me  of  the  true, — 


BACCHUS.  189 

Whose  ample  leaves  and  tendrils  curled 

Among  the  silver  hills  of  heaven, 

Draw  everlasting  dew ; 

Wine  of  wine, 

Blood  of  the  world, 

Form  of  forms,  and  mould  of  statures, 

That  I  intoxicated, 

And  by  the  draught  assimilated, 

May  float  at  pleasure  through  all  natures; 

The  bird-language  rightly  spell, 

And  that  which  roses  say  so  well. 

Wine  that  is  shed 

Like  the  torrents  of  the  sun 

Up  the  horizon  walls, 

Or  like  the  Atlantic  streams,  which  run 

When  the  South  Sea  calls. 

Water  and  bread, 

Food  which  needs  no  transmuting, 

Rainbow-flowering,  wisdom-fruiting 


190  BACCHUS. 

Wine  which  is  already  man, 
Food  which  teach  and  reason  can. 

Wine  which  Music  is, — 

Music  and  wine  are  one,  — 

That  I,  drinking  this, 

Shall  hear  far  Chaos  talk  with  me; 

Kings  unborn  shall  walk  with  me ; 

And  the  poor  grass  shall  plot  and  plan 

What  it  will  do  when  it  is  man. 

Quickened  so,  will  I  unlock 

Every  crypt  of  every  rock. 

I  thank  the  joyful  juice 
For  all  I  know ;  — 
Winds  of  remembering 
Of  the  ancient  being  blow, 
And  seeming-solid  walls  of  use 
Open  and  flow. 

Pour,  Bacchus !  the  remembering  wine  ; 
Retrieve  the  loss  of  me  and  mine  ! 


BACCHUS.  191 

Vine  for  vine  be  antidote, 

And  the  grape  requite  the  lote ! 

Haste  to  cure  the  old  despair,  — 

Reason  in  Nature's  lotus  drenched, 

The  memory  of  ages  quenched ; 

Give  them  again  to  shine; 

Let  wine  repair  what  this  undid ; 

And  where  the  infection  slid, 

A  dazzling  memory  revive; 

Refresh  the  faded  tints, 

Recut  the  aged  prints, 

And  write  my  old  adventures  with  the  pen 

Which  on  the  first  day  drew, 

Upon  the  tablets  blue, 

The  dancing  Pleiads  and  eternal  men. 


192 


LOSS   AND   GAIN. 


VIRTUE  runs  before  the  Muse, 

And  defies  her  skill ; 
She  is  rapt,  and  doth  refuse 

To  wait  a  painter's  will. 

Star-adoring,  occupied, 

Virtue  cannot  bend  her 
Just  to  please  a  poet's  pride, 

To  parade  her  splendor. 

The  bard  must  be  with  good  intent 

No  more  his,  but  hers; 
Must  throw  away  his  pen  and  paint, 

Kneel  with  worshippers. 


LOSS   AND   GAIN.  193 

Then,  perchance,  a  sunny  ray 

From  the  heaven  of  fire, 
His  lost  tools  may  overpay, 

And  better  his  desire. 


13 


194 


MEROPS. 


WHAT  care  I,  so  they  stand  the  same, — 
Things  of  the  heavenly  mind,  — 

How  long  the  power  to  give  them  name 
Tarries  yet  behind? 

Thus  far  to-day  your  favors  reach, 
O  fair,  appeasing  presences ! 

Ye  taught  my  lips  a  single  speech, 
And  a  thousand  silences. 

Space  grants  beyond  his  fated  road 

No  inch  to  the  god  of  day  ; 
And  copious  language  still  bestowed 

One  word,  no  more,  to  say. 


195 


THE    HOUSE. 


THERE  is  no  architect 

Can  build  as  the  Muse  can; 
She  is  skilful  to  select 

Materials  for  her  plan; 

Slow  and  warily  to  choose 
Rafters  of  immortal  pine, 

Or  cedar  incorruptible, 
Worthy  her  design. 

She  threads  dark  Alpine  forests, 

Or  valleys  by  the  sea, 
In  many  lands,  with  painful  steps, 

Ere  she  can  find  a  tree. 


196  THE    HOUSE. 

She  ransacks  mines  and  ledges, 
And  quarries  every  rock, 

To  hew  the  famous  adamant 
For  each  eternal  block. 

She  lays  her  beams  in  music, 

In  music  every  one, 
To  the  cadence  of  the  whirling  world 

Which  dances  round  the  sun; 

That  so  they  shall  not  be  displaced 

By  lapses  or  by  wars, 
But,  for  the  love  of  happy  souls, 

Outlive  the  newest  stars. 


197 


SAAD1. 


TREES  in  groves, 
Kine  in  droves, 

In  ocean  sport  the  scaly  herds, 
Wedge-like  cleave  the  air  the  birds, 
To  northern  lakes  fly  wind-borne  ducks, 
Browse  the  mountain  sheep  in  flocks, 
Men  consort  in  camp  and  town, 
But  the  poet  dwells  alone. 

God,  who  gave  to  him  the  lyre, 
Of  all  mortals  the  desire, 
For  all  breathing  men's  behoof, 
Straitly  charged  him,  '  Sit  aloof; ' 
Annexed  a  warning,  poets  say, 
To  the  bright  premium, — 
Ever,  when  twain  together  play, 
Shall  the  harp  be  dumb. 


198  SAADI. 

Many  may  come, 

But  one  shall  sing ; 

Two  touch  the  string, 

The  harp  is  dumb. 

Though  there  come  a  million. 

Wise  Saadi  dwells  alone. 

Yet  Saadi  loved  the  race  of  men,  — 

No  churl,  immured  in  cave  or  den ; 

In  bower  and  hall 

He  wants  them  all, 

Nor  can  dispense 

With  Persia  for  his  audience: 

They  must  give  ear, 

Grow  red  with  joy  and  white  with  fear ; 

But  he  has  no  companion; 

Come  ten,  or  come  a  million, 

Good  Saadi  dwells  alone. 

Be  thou  ware  where  Saadi  dwells ; 
Wisdom  of  the  gods  is  he,  — 
Entertain  it  reverently. 


SAADI.  199 

Gladly  round  that  golden  lamp 

Sylvan  deities  encamp, 

And  simple  maids  and  noble  youth 

Are  welcome  to  the  man  of  truth. 

Most  welcome  they  who  need  him  most, 

They  feed  the  spring  which  they'  exhaust ; 

For  greater  need 

Draws  better  deed : 

But,  critic,  spare  thy  vanity, 

Nor  show  thy  pompous  parts, 

To  vex  with  odious  subtlety 

The  cheerer  of  men's  hearts. 

Sad-eyed  Fakirs  swiftly  say 
Endless  dirges  to  decay, 
Never  in  the  blaze  of  light 
Lose  the  shudder  of  midnight ; 
Pale  at  overflowing  noon 
Hear  wolves  barking  at  the  moon ; 
In  the  bower  of  dalliance  sweet 
Hear  the  far  Avenger's  feet; 


200 


SAADI. 


And  shake  before  those  awful  Powers, 
Who  in  their  pride  forgive  not  ours. 
Thus  the  sad-eyed  Fakirs  preach : 
'Bard,  when  thee  would  Allah  teach, 
And  lift  thee  to  his  holy  mount, 
He  sends  thee  from  his  bitter  fount 
Wormwood, — saying,  "Go  thy  ways, 
Drink  not  the  Malaga  of  praise, 
But  do  the  deed  thy  fellows  hate, 
And  compromise  thy  peaceful  state ; 
Smite  the  white  breasts  which  thee  fed; 
Stuff  sharp  thorns  beneath  the  head 
Of  them  thou  shouldst  have  comforted ; 
For  out  of  woe  and  out  of  crime 
Draws  the  heart  a  lore  sublime." ' 
And  yet  it  seemeth  not  to  me 
That  the  high  gods  love  tragedy ; 
For  Saadi  sat  in  the  sun, 
And  thanks  was  his  contrition  ; 
For  haircloth  and  for  bloody  whips, 
Had  active  hands  and  smiling  lips ; 


SAADI. 

And  yet  his  runes  he  rightly  read, 
And  to  his  folk  his  message  sped. 
Sunshine  in  his  heart  transferred 
Lighted  each  transparent  word, 
And  well  could  honoring  Persia  learn 
What  Saadi  wished  to  say ; 
For  Saadi's  nightly  stars  did  burn 
Brighter  than  Dschami's  day. 

Whispered  the  Muse  in  Saadi's  cot : 
'  O  gentle  Saadi,  listen  not, 
Tempted  by  thy  praise  of  wit, 
Or  by  thirst  and  appetite 
For  the  talents  not  thine  own, 
To  sons  of  contradiction. 
Never,  son  of  eastern  morning, 
Follow  falsehood,  follow  scorning. 
Denounce  who  will,  who  will  deny, 
And  pile  the  hills  to  scale  the  sky  ; 
Let  theist,  atheist,  pantheist, 
Define  and  wrangle  how  they  list, 


201 


202  SAADI. 

Fierce  conserver,  fierce  destroyer, — 
But  thou,  joy-giver  and  enjoyer, 
Unknowing  war,  unknowing  crime, 
Gentle  Saadi,  mind  thy  rhyme ; 
Heed  not  what  the  brawlers  say, 
Heed  thou  only  Saadi's  lay. 

*  Let  the  great  world  bustle  on 

With  war  and  trade,  with  camp  and  town 

A  thousand  men  shall  dig  and  eat ; 

At  forge  and  furnace  thousands  sweat  ; 

And  thousands  sail  the  purple  sea, 

And  give  or  take  the  stroke  of  war, 

Or  crowd  the  market  and  bazaar; 

Oft  shall  war  end,  and  peace  return, 

And  cities  rise  where  cities  burn, 

Ere  one  man  my  hill  shall  climb, 

Who  can  turn  the  golden  rhyme. 

Let  them  manage  how  they  may, 

Heed  thou  only  Saadi's  lay. 

Seek  the  living  among  the  dead, — 

Man  in  man  is  imprisoned ; 


SAADI.  203 

Barefooted  Dervish  is  not  poor, 

If  fate  unlock  his  bosom's  door, 

So  that  what  his  eye  hath  seen 

His  tongue  can  paint  as  bright,  as  keen; 

And  what  his  tender  heart  hath  felt 

With  equal  fire  thy  heart  shall  melt. 

For,  whom  the  Muses  smile  upon, 

And  touch  with  soft  persuasion, 

His  words  like  a  storm-wind  can  bring 

Terror  and  beauty  on  their  wing; 

In  his  every  syllable 

Lurketh  nature  veritable ; 

And  though  he  speak  in  midnight  dark,  — 

In  heaven  no  star,  on  earth  no  spark,  — 

Yet  before  the  listener's  eye 

Swims  the  world  in  ecstasy, 

The  forest  waves,  the  morning  breaks, 

The  pastures  sleep,  ripple  the  lakes, 

Leaves  twinkle,  flowers  like  persons  be, 

And  life  pulsates  in  rock  or  tree. 

Saadi,  so  far  thy  words  shall  reach  : 

Suns  rise  and  set  in  Saadi's  speech ! ' 


204  SAADI 

And  thus  to  Saadi  said  the  Muse : 

'  Eat  thou  the  bread  which  men  refuse  ; 

Flee  from  the  goods  which  from  thee  flee; 

Seek  nothing,  —  Fortune  seeketh  thee. 

Nor  mount,  nor  dive ;  all  good  things  keep 

The  midway  of  the  eternal  deep. 

Wish  not  to  fill  the  isles  with  eyes 

To  fetch  thee  birds  of  paradise  : 

On  thine  orchard's  edge  belong 

All  the  brags  of  plume  and  song ; 

Wise  Ali's  sunbright  sayings  pass 

For  proverbs  in  the  market-place  ; 

Through  mountains  bored  by  regal  art, 

Toil  whistles  as  he  drives  his  cart. 

Nor  scour  the  seas,  nor  sift  mankind, 

A  poet  or  a  friend  to  find : 

Behold,  he  watches  at  the  door ! 

Behold  his  shadow  on  the  floor ! 

Open  innumerable  doors 

The  heaven  where  unveiled  Allah  pours 

The  flood  of  truth,  the  flood  of  good, 

The  Seraph's  and  the  Cherub's  food  : 


SAADI. 

Those  doors  are  men:  the  Pariah  hind 
Admits  thee  to  the  perfect  Mind. 
Seek  not  beyond  thy  cottage  wall 
Redeemers  that  can  yield  thte  all : 
While  thou  sittest  at  thy  door 
On  the  desert's  yellow  floor, 
Listening  to  the  gray-haired  crones, 
Foolish  gossips,  ancient  drones, 
Saadi,  see  !  they  rise  in  stature 
To  the  height  of  mighty  Nature, 
And  the  secret  stands  revealed 
Fraudulent  Time  in  vain  concealed, — 
That  blessed  gods  in  servile  masks 
Plied  for  thee  thy  household  tasks.' 


205 


206 


HOLIDAYS. 


FROM  fall  to  spring  the  russet  acorn, 
Fruit  beloved  of  maid  and  boy, 

Lent  itself  beneath  the  forest, 
To  be  the  children's  toy. 

Pluck  it  now  !     In  vain,  —  thou  canst  not ; 

Its  root  has  pierced  yon  shady  mound; 
Toy  no  longer  —  it  has  duties  ; 

It  is  anchored  in  the  ground. 

Year  by  year  the  rose-lipped  maiden, 

Playfellow  of  young  and  old, 
Was  frolic  sunshine,  dear  to  all  men, 

More  dear  to  one  than  mines  of  gold. 


HOLIDAYS.  207 

Whither  went  the  lovely  hoyden? 

Disappeared  in  blessed  wife ; 
Servant  to  a  wooden  cradle, 

Living  in  a  baby's  life. 

Still  thou  playest;  —  short  vacation 
Fate  grants  each  to  stand  aside ; 

Now  must  thou  be  man  and  artist, — 
'Tis  the  turning  of  the  tide. 


208 


PAINTING    AND    SCULPTURE. 


THE  sinful  painter  drapes  his  goddess  warm, 
Because  she  still  is  naked,  being  dressed: 

The  godlike  sculptor  will  not  so  deform 

Beauty,  which  limbs  and  flesh  enough  invest. 


209 


FROM   THE   PERSIAN   OF  HAFIZ. 


The  poems  of  Hafiz  are  held  by  the  Persians  to  be  alle 
goric  and  mystical.  His  German  editor,  Von  Hammer, 
remarks  on  the  following  poem,  that,  4  though  in  appear 
ance  anacreontic,  it  may  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  best 
of  those  compositions  which  earned  for  Hafiz  the  honor 
able  title  of  "  Tongue  of  the  Secret."  ' 

BUTLER,  fetch  the  ruby  wine 
Which  with  sudden  greatness  fills  us; 
Pour  for  me,  who  in  my  spirit 
Fail  in  courage  and  performance. 
Bring  this  philosophic  stone, 
Karun's  treasure,  Noah's  age ; 
Haste,  that  by  thy  means  I  open 
All  the  doors  of  luck  and  life. 
Bring  to  me  the  liquid  fire 
Zoroaster  sought  in  dust : 
14 


210  FROM    THE    PERSIAN    OF    HAFIZ. 

To  Hafiz,  revelling,  'tis  allowed 

To  pray  to  Matter  and  to  Fire. 

Bring  the  wine  of  Jamschid's  glass, 

Which  glowed,  ere  time  was,  in  the  Neant; 

Bring  it  me,  that  through  its  force 

I,  as  Jamschid,  see  through  worlds. 

Wisely  said  the  Kaisar  Jamschid, 

*  The  world  's  not  worth  a  barleycorn  : ' 

Let  flute  and  lyre  lordly  speak ; 

Lees  of  wine  outvalue  crowns. 

Bring  me,  boy,  the  veiled  beauty, 

Who  in  ill-famed  houses  sits : 

Bring  her  forth ;  my  honest  name 

Freely  barter  I  for  wine. 

Bring  me,  boy,  the  fire-water  ;  — 

Drinks  the  lion,  the  woods  burn ; 

Give  it  me,  that  I  storm  heaven, 

And  tear  the  net  from  the  archwolf. 

Wine  wherewith  the  Houris  teach 

Souls  the  ways  of  paradise ! 

On  the  living  coals  I'll  set  it, 

And  therewith  my  brain  perfume. 


FROM    THE    PERSIAN    OF   HAFIZ.  21 1 

Bring  me  wine,  through  whose  effulgence 

Jam  and  Chosroes  yielded  light; 

Wine,  that  to  the  flute  I  sing 

Where  is  Jam,  and  where  is  Kauss. 

Bring  the  blessing  of  old  times,  — 

Bless  the  old,  departed  shahs! 

Bring  me  wine  which  spendeth  lordship, 

Wine  whose  pureness  searcheth  hearts  ; 

Bring  it  me,  the  shah  of  hearts  ! 

Give  me  wine  to  wash  me  clean 

Of  the  weather-stains  of  cares, 

See  the  countenance  of  luck. 

Whilst  I  dwell  in  spirit-gardens, 

Wherefore  stand  I  shackled  here? 

Lo,  this  mirror  shows  me  all  ! 

Drunk,  I  speak  of  purity, 

Beggar,  I  of  lordship  speak ; 

When  Hafiz  in  his  revel  sings, 

Shouteth  Sohra  in  her  sphere. 

Fear  the  changes  of  a  day : 
Bring  wine  which  increases  life. 


212  FROM    THE    PERSIAN    OF    HAFIZ. 

Since  the  world  is  all  untrue, 
Let  the  trumpets  thee  remind 
How  the  crown  of  Kobad  vanished. 
Be  not  certain  of  the  world,  — 
'Twill  not  spare  to  shed  thy  blood. 
Desperate  of  the  world's  affair 
Came  I  running  to  the  wine-house. 
Bring  me  wine  which  maketh  glad, 
That  I  may  my  steed  bestride, 
Through  the  course  career  with  Rustem, 
Gallop  to  my  heart's  content; 
That  I  reason  quite  expunge, 
And  plant  banners  on  the  worlds. 
Let  us  make  our  glasses  kiss ;  , 

Let  us  quench  the  sorrow-cinders. 
To-day  let  us  drink  together; 
Noiv  and  then  will  never  agree. 
Whoso  has  arranged  a  banquet 
Is  with  glad  mind  satisfied, 
'Scaping  from  the  snares  of  Dews. 
Woe  for  youth !  'tis  gone  in  the  wind : 
Happy  he  who  spent  it  well ! 


FROM    THE    PERSIAN    OF    HAFIZ.  21! 

Bring  wine,  that  I  overspring 
Both  worlds  at  a  single  leap. 
Stole,  at  dawn,  from  glowing  spheres 
Call  of  Houris  to  my  sense :  — 
'  O  lovely  bird,  delicious  soul, 
Spread  thy  pinions,  break  thy  cage; 
Sit  on  the  roof  of  seven  domes, 
Where  the  spirits  take  their  rest.' 

• 

In  the  time  of  Bisurdschimihr, 
Menutscheher's  beauty  shined. 
On  the  beaker  of  Nushirvan, 
Wrote  they  once  in  elder  times, 
*  Hear  the  counsel ;  learn  from  us 
Sample  of  the  course  of  things  : 
The  earth  —  it  is  a  place  of  sorrow, 
Scanty  joys  are  here  below; 
Who  has  nothing  has  no  sorrow.' 
Where  is  Jam,  and  where  his  cup  ? 
Solomon  and  his  mirror,  where? 
Which  of  the  wise  masters  knows 
What  time  Kauss  and  Jam  existed  ? 


214  FROM   THE    PERSIAN    OF   HAFIZ. 

When  those  heroes  left  this  world, 
They  left  nothing  but  their  names. 
Bind  thy  heart  not  to  the  earth; 
When  thou  goest,  come  not  back; 
Fools  spend  on  the  world  their  hearts, — 
League  with  it  is  feud  with  heaven : 
Never  gives  it  what  thou  wishest. 

A  cup  of  wine  imparts  the  sight 

Of  the  five  heaven-domes  with  nine  steps 

Whoso  can  himself  renounce 

Without  support  shall  walk  thereon ;  — 

Who  discreet  is  is  not  wise. 

Give  me,  boy,  the  Kaisar  cup, 
Which  rejoices  heart  and  soul. 
Under  wine  and  under  cup 
Signify  we  purest  love. 
Youth  like  lightning  disappears; 
Life  goes  by  us  as  the  wind. 
Leave  the  dwelling  with  six  doors, 
And  the  serpent  with  nine  heads ; 


FROM    THE    PEESJAN    OF    HAFIZ.  215 

Life  and  silver  spend  thou  freely 
If  thou  honorest  the  soul. 
Haste  into  the  other  life  ; 
All  is  vain  save  God  alone. 
Give  me,  boy,  this  toy  of  Demons: 
When  the  cup  of  Jam  was  lost, 
Him  availed  the  world  no  more 
Fetch  the  wineglass  made  of  ice ; 
Wake  the  torpid  heart  with  wine. 
Every  clod  of  loam  beneath  us 
Is  a  skull  of  Alexander ; 
Oceans  are  the  blood  of  princes ; 
Desert  sands  the  dust  of  beauties. 
More  than  one  Darius  was  there 
Who  the  whole  world  overcame ; 
But,  since  these  gave  up  the  ghost, 
Thinkest  thou  they  never  were? 

Boy,  go  from  me  to  the  shah; 
Say  to  him,  '  Shah,  crowned  as  Jam, 
Win  thou  first  the  poor  man's  heart, 
Then  the  glass;  so  know  the  world. 


216  FROM   THE    PERSIAN    OF    HAFIZ. 

Empty  sorrows  from  the  earth 
Canst  thou  drive  away  with  wine. 
Now  in  thy  throne's  recent  beauty, 
In  the  flowing  tide  of  power, 
Moon  of  fortune,  mighty  king, 
Whose  tiara  sheddeth  lustre, 
Peace  secure  to  fish  and  fowl, 
Heart  and  eye-sparkle  to  saints ;  — 
Shoreless  is  the  sea  of  praise ; 
I  content  me  with  a  prayer :  — 
From  Nisami's  lyric  page, 
Fairest  ornament  of  speech, 
Here  a  verse  will  I  recite, 
Verse  more  beautiful  than  pearls  : 
"  More  kingdoms  wait  thy  diadem 
Than  are  known  to  thee  by  name; 
Thee  may  sovran  Destiny 
Lead  to  victory  day  by  day!'" 


217 


GHASELLE: 


FROM    THE    PERSIAN    OF    HAFIZ. 


OF  Paradise,  O  hermit  wise, 
Let  us  renounce  the  thought; 

Of  old  therein  our  names  of  sin 
Allah  recorded  not. 

Who  dear  to  God  on  earthly  sod 

No  corn-grain  plants, 
The  same  is  glad  that  life  is  had, 

Though  corn  he  wants. 

O  just  fakir,  with  brow  austere, 
Forbid  me  not  the  vine; 

On  the  first  day,  poor  Hafiz'  clay 
Was  kneaded  up  with  wine. 


218  GHASELLE. 

Thy  mind  the  mosque  and  cool  kiosk, 

Spare  fast  and  orisons; 
Mine  me  allows  the  drinking-house, 

And  sweet  chase  of  the  nuns. 

He  is  no  dervise,  Heaven  slights  his  service, 

Who  shall  refuse 
There  in  the  banquet  to  pawn  his  blanket 

For  Schiraz'  juice. 

Who  his  friend's  skirt  or  hem  of  his  shirt 

Shall  spare  to  pledge, 
To  him  Eden's  bliss  and  angel's  kiss 

Shall  want  their  edge. 

Up !  Hafiz,  grace  from  high  God's  face 

Beams  on  thee  pure; 
Shy  thou  not  hell,  and  trust  thou  well, 

Heaven  is  secure. 


319 


-;  :;-,,..-, 


XENOPHANES. 


BY  fate,  not  option,  frugal  Nature  gave 

One  scent  to  hyson  and  to  wall-flower, 

One  sound  to  pine-groves  and  to  waterfalls, 

One  aspect  to  the  desert  and  the  lake. 

It  was  her  stern  necessity  :  all  things 

Are  of  one  pattern  made ;  bird,  beast,  and  flower, 

Song,  picture,  form,  space,  thought,  and  character, 

Deceive  us,  seeming  to  be  many  things, 

And  are  but  one.     Beheld  far  off,  they  part 

As  God  and  devil ;  bring  them  to  the  mind, 

They  dull  its  edge  with  their  monotony.     • 

To  know  one  element,  explore  another, 

And  in  the  second  reappears  the  first. 

The  specious  panorama  of  a  year 

But  multiplies  the  image  of  a  day, — 


220  XENOrilANES. 

A  belt  of  mirrors  round  a  taper's  flame; 
And  universal  Nature,  through  her  vast 
And  crowded  whole,  an  infinite  paroquet, 
Repeats  one  note, 


221 


THE    DAY'S     RATION. 


WHEN  I  was  born, 

From  all  the  seas  of  strength  Fate  filled  a  chalice, 
Saying,  'This  be  thy  portion,  child;  this  chalice, 
Less  than  a  lily's,  thou  shalt  daily  draw 
From  my  great  arteries, — nor  less,  nor  more.' 
All  substances  the  cunning  chemist  Time 
Melts  down  into  that  liquor  of  my  life,  — 
Friends,  foes,  joys,  fortunes,  beauty,  and  disgust. 
And  whether  I  am  angry  or  content, 
Indebted  or  insulted,  loved  or  hurt, 
All  he  distils  into  sidereal  wine 
And  brims  my  little  cup;  heedless,  alas! 
Of  all  he  sheds  how  little  it  will  hold, 
How  much  runs  over  on  the  desert  sands. 
If  a  new  Muse  draw  me  with  splendid  ray, 
And  I  uplift  myself  into  its  heaven, 


222  THE  DAY'S  RATION 

The  needs  of  the  first  sight  absorb  my  blood, 

And  all  the  following  hours  of  the  day 

Drag  a  ridiculous  age. 

To-day,  when  friends  approach,  and  every  hour 

Brings  book,  or  starbright  scroll  of  genius, 

The  little  cup  will  hold  not  a  bead  more, 

And  all  the  costly  liquor  runs  to  waste; 

Nor  gives  the  jealous  lord  one  diamond  drop 

So  to  be  husbanded  for  poorer  days. 

Why  need  I  volumes,  if  one  word  suffice? 

Why  need  I  galleries,  when  a  pupil's  draught 

After  the  master's  sketch  fills  and  o'erfills 

My  apprehension?     why  seek  Italy, 

Who  cannot  circumnavigate  the  sea 

Of  thoughts  and  things  at  home,  but  still  adjourn 

The  nearest  matters  for  a  thousand  days? 


223 


BLIGHT. 


GIVE  me  truths; 

For  I  am  weary  of  the  surfaces,  — 
And  die  of  inanition.  *  If  I  knew 
Only  the  herbs  and  simples  of  the  wood, 
Rue,  cinquefoil,  gill,  vervain,  and  agrimony, 
Blue-vetch,  and  trillium,  hawkweed,  sassafras, 
Milkweeds,  and  murky  brakes,  quaint  pipes,  and  sundew, 
And  rare  and  virtuous  roots,  which  in  these  woods 
Draw  untold  juices  from  the  common  earth, 
Untold,  unknown,  and  I  could  surely  spell  *• 
Their  fragrance,  and  their  chemistry  apply 
By  sweet  affinities-vto  human  flesh, 

f  'Driving  the  foe  and  stablishing  the  friend, — 
O,  that  were  much,  and  I  could  be  a  part 

•f-  Of  the  round  day,  f related  to  the  sun 
And  pi antedf  world,  j4nd  full   executor 


224 


BLIGHT. 


Of  their  imperfect  functions}  * 
But  these  young  scholars,  who  invade  our  hills, 
j   Bold  as  the  engineer  who  fells  the  wood, 

And  travelling  often  in  the  cutfhe  makes,) 
,/ 
Love  not  the  flower  they  pluck,  and  know  it  not, 

And  all  their  botany  is  Latin  names, 
t    The  old  men  studied  magic  in  the  flowers, 
And  human  fortunes  in  astronomy, 
And  an  omnipotence  in  chemistry, 
Preferring  things  to  names,  for  these  were  men, 
+  Were  Unitarians  of  the  united  world, 
And,  wheresoever  their  clear  eye-beams*  fell, 
They  caught  the  footsteps  of  the  SAME.     Our  eyes 
Are  armed,  but  we  are  strangers  to  the  stars, 
And  strangers  to  the  mystic  beast  and  bird, 
And  strangers  to  the  plant  and  to  the  mine. 
The  injured  elements  say,  '  Not  in  us ; ' 
And  night  and  day,  ocean  and  continent, 
Fire,  plant,  and  mineral  say,  'Not  in  us,' 
And  haughtily  return  us  stare  for  stare. 
For  we  invade  them  impiously  for  gain; 
We  devastate  them  unreligiously, 


BLIGHT. 


225 


And  coldly  ask  their  pottage,  not  their  love. 
Therefore  they  shove  us  from  them,  yield  to  us 
Only  what  to  our  griping  toil  is  due ; 
But  the  sweet  affluence  of  love  and  song, 
The  rich  results  of  the  divine  consents 
Of  man  and  earth,  of  world  beloved  and  lover, 
The  nectar  and  ambrosia,  are  withheld; 
And  in  the  midst  of  spoils  and  slaves,  we  thieves 
And  pirates  of  the  universe,  shut  out 
Daily  to  a  more  thin  and  outward  rind, 
Turn  pale  and  starve.     Therefore,  to  our  sick  eyes, 
The  stunted  trees  look  sick,  the  summer  short, 
Clouds  shade  the  sun,  which  will  not  tan  our  hay, 
And  nothing  thrives  to  reach  its  natural  term; 
And  life,  shorn  of  its  venerable  length, 
Even  at  its  greatest  space  is  a  defeat, 
And  dies  in  anger  that  it  was  a  dupe ; 
And,  in  its  highest  noon  and  wantonness, 
Is  early  frugal,  like  a  beggar's  child; 
Even  in  the  hot  pursuit  of  the  best  aims 
15 


226  BLIGHT. 


And  prizes  of  ambition,  checks  its  hand, 
Like  Alpine  cataracts  frozen  as  they  leaped, 
Chilled  with  a  miserly  comparison 
Of  the  toy's  purchase  with  the  length  of  life. 


227 


MUSKETAaUID. 


BECAUSE  I  was  content  with  these  poor  fields, 

Low,  open  meads,  slender  and  sluggish  streams, 

And  found  a  home  in  haunts  which  others  scorned, 

The  partial  wood-gods  overpaid  my  love, 

And  granted  me  the  freedom  of  their  state, 

And  in  their  secret  senate  have  prevailed 

With  the  dear,  dangerous  lords  that  rule  our  life, 

Made  moon  and  planets  parties  to  their  bond, 

And  through  my  rock-like,  solitary  wont 

Shot  million  rays  of  thought  and  tenderness. 

For  me,  in  showers,  in  sweeping  showers,  the  spring 

Visits  the  valley; — break  away  the  clouds, — 

I  bathe  in  the  morn's  soft  and  silvered  air, 

And  loiter  willing  by  yon  loitering  stream. 

Sparrows  far  off,  and  nearer,  April's  bird, 

Blue-coated,  —  flying  before  from  tree  to  tree, 


223  MUSKETAQUID. 

Courageous,  sing  a  delicate  overture 
To  lead  the  tardy  concert  of  the  year. 
Onward  and  nearer  rides  the  sun  of  May ; 
And  wide  around,  the  marriage  of  the  plants 
Is  sweetly  solemnized.     Then  flows  amain 
The  surge  of  summer's  beauty ;  dell  and  crag, 
Hollow  and  lake,  hill-side,  and  pine  arcade, 
Are  touched  with  genius.     Yonder  ragged  cliff 
Has  thousand  faces  in  a  thousand  hours. 

Beneath  low  hills,  in  the  broad  interval 
Through  which  at  will  our  Indian  rivulet 
Winds  mindful  still  of  sannup  and  of  squaw, 
Whose  pipe  and  arrow  oft  the  plough  unburies, 
Here  in  pine  houses  built  of  new  fallen  trees, 
Supplanters  of  the  tribe,  the  farmers  dwell. 
Traveller,  to  thee,  perchance,  a  tedious  road, 
Or,  it  may  be,  a  picture ;  to  these  men, 
The  landscape  is  an  armory  of  powers, 
Which,  one  by  one,  they  know  to  draw  and  use. 
They  harness  beast,  bird,  insect,  to  their  work; 
They  prove  the  virtues  of  each  bed  of  rock, 


MUSKET  AQU1D.  229 

And,  like  the  chemist  mid  his  loaded  jars, 
Draw  from  each  stratum  its  adapted  use 
To  drug  their  crops  or  weapon  their  arts  withal. 
They  turn  the  frost  upon  their  chemic  heap, 
They  set  the  wind  to  winnow  pulse  and  grain, 
They  thank  the  spring-flood  for  its  fertile  slime, 
And,  on  cheap  summit-levels  of  the  snow, 
Slide  with  the  sledge  to  inaccessible  woods 
O'er  meadows  bottomless.     So,  year  by  year, 
They  fight  the  elements  with  elements, 
(That  one  would  say,  meadow  and  forest  walked, 
Transmuted  in  these  men  to  rule  their  like,) 
And  by  the  order  in  the  field  disclose 
The  order  regnant  in  the  yeoman's  brain. 

What  these  strong  masters  wrote  at  large  in  miles, 

I  followed  in  small  copy  in  my  acre ; 

For  there's  no  rood  has  not  a  star  above  it:/ 

The  cordial  quality  of  pear  or  plum 

Ascends  as  gladly  in  a  single  tree 

As  in  broad  orchards  resonant  with  bees; 


230 


MUSKETAQUID. 


And  every  atom  poises  for  itself, 

And  for  the  whole.     The  gentle  deities 

Showed  me  the  lore  of  colors  and  of  sounds, 

The  innumerable  tenements  of  beauty, 

The  miracle  of  generative  force, 

Far-reaching  concords  of  astronomy 

Felt  in  the  plants,  and  in  the  punctual  birds; 

Better,  the  linked  purpose  of  the  whole, 

And,  chiefest  prize,  found  I  true  liberty 

In  the  glad  home  plain-dealing  nature  gave. 

The  polite  found  me  impolite  ;  the  great 

Would  mortify  me,  but  in  vain ;   for  still 

I  am  a  willow  of  the  wilderness, 

Loving  the  wind  that  bent  me.     All  my  hurts 

My  garden  spade  can  heal.     A  woodland  walk, 

A  quest  of  river-grapes,  a  mocking  thrush, 

A  wild-rose,  or  rock-loving  columbine, 

Salve  my  worst  wounds. 

For  thus  the  wood-gods  murmured  in  my  ear  : 

'  Dost  love  our  manners  ?     Canst  thou  silent  lie  ? 

Canst  thou,  thy  pride  forgot,  like  nature  pass 


MUSKETAQUID.  231 

Into  the  winter  night's  extinguished  mood? 

Canst  thou  shine  now,  then  darkle, 

And  being  latent  feel  thyself  no  less  ? 

As,  when  the  all-worsnipped  moon  attracts  the  eye, 

The  river,  hill,  stems,  foliage  are  obscure 

Yet  envies  none,  none  are  unenviable.' 


232 


DIRGE. 


KNOWS  he  who  tills  this  lonely  field, 

To  reap  its  scanty  corn, 
What  mystic  fruit  his  acres  yield 

At  midnight  and  at  morn  ? 

In  the  long  sunny  afternoon, 
The  plain  was  full  of  ghosts ; 

I  wandered  up,  I  wandered  down, 
Beset  by  pensive  hosts. 

The  winding  Concord  gleamed  below, 

Pouring  as  wide  a  flood 
As  when  my  brothers,  long  ago, 

Came  with  me  to  the  wood. 


DIRGE.  233 

But  they  are  gone,  —  the  holy  ones 
Who  trod  with  me  this  lovely  vale; 

The  strong,  star-bright  companions 
Are  silent,  low,  and  pale. 

My  good,  my  noble,  in  their  prime, 

Who  made  this  world  the  feast  it  was, 

Who  learned  with  me  the  lore  of  time, 
Who  loved  this  dwelling-place  ! 

They  took  this  valley  for  their  toy, 
They  played  with  it  in  every  mood; 

A  cell  for  prayer,  a  hall  for  joy,  — 
They  treated  nature  as  they  would. 

They  colored  the  horizon  round ; 

Stars  flamed  and  faded  as  they  bade; 
All  echoes  hearkened  for  their  sound,  — 

They  made  the  woodlands  glad  or  mad, 

I  touch  this  flower  of  silken  leaf, 
Which  once  our  childhood  knew; 


234  DIRGE. 

Its  soft  leaves  wound  me  with  a  grief 
Whose  balsam  never  grew. 

Hearken  to  yon  pine-warbler 

Singing  aloft  in  the  tree! 
Hearest  thou,  O  traveller, 

What  he  singeth  to  me? 

Not  unless  God  made  sharp  thine  ear 

With  sorrow  such  as  mine, 
Out  of  that  delicate  lay  could'st  thou 

Its  heavy  tale  divine. 

'Go,  lonely  man/  it  saith  ; 

'  They  loved  thee  from  their  birth  ; 
Their  hands  were  pure,  and  pure  their  faith, 

There  are  no  such  hearts  on  earth. 

'  Ye  drew  one  mother's  milk, 

One  chamber  held  ye  all ; 
A  very  tender  history 

Did  in  your  childhood  fall. 


DIRGE.  235 


'  Ye  cannot  unlock  your  heart, 
The  key  is  gone  with  them ; 

The  silent  organ  loudest  chants 
The  master's  requiem.' 


236 


THRENODY. 


THE  South-wind  brings 

Life,  sunshine,  and  desire, 

And  on  every  mount  and  meadow 

Breathes  aromatic  fire; 

But  over  the  dead  he  has  no  power, 

The  lost,  the  lost,  he  cannot  restore; 

And,  looking  over  the  hills,  I  mourn 

The  darling  who  shall  not  return. 

I  see  my  empty  house, 
I  see  my  trees  repair  their  boughs; 
And  he,  the  wondrous  child, 
Whose  silver  warble  wild 
Outvalued  every  pulsing  sound 
Within  the  air's  cerulean  round, — 


THRENODY.  237 

The  hyacinthine  boy,  for  whom 

Morn  well  might  break  and  April  bloom,  — 

The  gracious  boy,  who  did  adorn 

The  world  whereinto  he  was  born, 

And  by  his  countenance  repay 

The  favor  of  the  loving  Day,  — 

Has  disappeared  from  the  Day's  eye; 

Far  and  wide  she  cannot  find  him  ; 

My  hopes  pursue,  they  cannot  bind  him. 

Returned  this  day,  the  south  wind  searches, 

And  finds  young  pines  and  budding  birches; 

But  finds  not  the  budding  man; 

Nature,  who  lost,  cannot  remake  him; 

Fate  let  him  fall,  Fate  can't  retake  him ; 

Nature,  Fate,  men,  him  seek  in  vain. 

And  whither  now,  my  truant  wise  and  sweet, 

O,  whither  tend  thy  feet? 

I  had  the  right,  few  days  ago, 

Thy  steps  to  watch,  thy  place  to  know; 

How  have  I  forfeited  the  right? 

Hast  thou  forgot  me  in  a  new  delight? 


238  THRENODY. 

I  hearken  for  thy  household  cheer, 

O  eloquent  child ! 

Whose  voice,  an  equal  messenger, 

Conveyed  thy  meaning  mild. 

What  though  the  pains  and  joys 

Whereof  it  spoke  were  toys 

Fitting  his  age  and  ken, 

Yet  fairest  dames  and  bearded  men, 

Who  heard  the  sweet  request, 

So  gentle,  wise,  and  grave, 

Bended  with  joy  to  his  behest, 

And  let  the  world's  affairs  go  by, 

Awhile  to  share  his  cordial  game, 

Or  mend  his  wicker  wagon-frame, 

Still  plotting  how  their  hungry  ear 

That  winsome  voice  again  might  hear; 

For  his  lips  could  well  pronounce 

Words  that  were  persuasions. 

Gentlest  guardians  marked  serene 
His  early  hope,  his  liberal  mien ; 


THRENODY.  239 

Took  counsel  from  his  guiding  eyes 
To  make  this  wisdom  earthly  wise. 
Ah,  vainly  do  these  eyes  recall 
The  school-march,  each  day's  festival, 
When  every  morn  my  bosom  glowed 
To  watch  the  convoy  on  the  road; 
The  babe  in  willow  wagon  closed, 
With  rolling  eyes  and  face  composed ; 
With  children  forward  and  behind, 
Like  Cupids  studiously  inclined; 
And  he  the  chieftain  paced  beside, 
The  centre  of  the  troop  allied, 
With  sunny  face  of  sweet  repose, 
To  guard  the  babe  from  fancied  foes. 
The  little  captain  innocent 
Took  the  eye  with  him  as  he  went; 
Each  village  senior  paused  to  scan 
And  speak  the  lovely  caravan. 
From  the  window  I  look  out 
To  mark  thy  beautiful  parade, 
Stately  marching  in  cap  and  coat 
To  some  tune  by  fairies  played;  — 


240  THRENODl'. 

A  music  heard  by  thee  alone 
To  works  as  noble  led  thee  on. 

Now  Love  and  Pride,  alas  !  in  vain, 

Up  and  down  their  glances  strain. 

The  painted  sled  stands  where  it  stood; 

The  kennel  by  the  corded  wood ; 

The  gathered  sticks  to  stanch  the  wall 

Of  the  snow-tower,  when  snow  should  fall ; 

The  ominous  hole  he  dug  in  the  sand, 

And  childhood's  castles  built  or  planned; 

His  daily  haunts  I  well  discern, — 

The  poultry-yard,  the  shed,  the  barn, — 

And  every  inch  of  garden  ground 

Paced  by  the  blessed  feet  around, 

From  the  roadside  to  the  brook 

Whereinto  he  loved  to  look. 

Step  the  meek  birds  where  erst  they  ranged; 

The  wintry  garden  lies  unchanged; 

The  brook  into  the  stream  runs  on; 

But  the  deep-eyed  boy  is  gone. 


THRENODY. 


241 


On  that  shaded  day, 

Dark  with  more  clouds  than  tempests  are, 
When  thou  didst  yield  thy  innocent  breath 
In  birdlike  heavings  unto  death, 
Night  came,  and  Nature  had  not  thee; 
I  said,  'We  are  mates  in  misery.' 
The  morrow  dawned  with  needless  glow; 
Each  snowbird  chirped,  each  fowl  must  crow; 
Each  tramper  started;  but  the  feet 
Of  the  most  beautiful  and  sweet 
Of  human  youth  had  left  the  hill 
And  garden,  —  they  were  bound  and  still. 
There's  not  a  sparrow  or  a  wren, 
There's  not  a  blade  of  autumn  grain, 
Which  the  four  seasons  do  not  tend, 
And  tides  of  life  and  increase  lend  ; 
And  every  chick  of  every  bird, 
And  weed  and  rock-moss  is  preferred. 
O  ostrich-like  forgetfulness ! 
O  loss  of  larger  in  the  less ! 
Was  there  no  star  that  could  be  sent, 
No  watcher  in  the  firmament, 
16 


242 


THRENODY. 

No  angel  from  the  countless  host 
That  loiters  round  the  crystal  coast, 
Could  stoop  to  heal  that  only  child, 
Nature's  sweet  marvel  undefiled, 
And  keep  the  blossom  of  the  earth, 
Which  all  her  harvests  were  not  worth? 
Not  mine,  —  I  never  called  thee  mine, 
But  Nature's  heir,  —  if  I  repine, 
And  seeing  rashly  torn  and  moved 
Not  what  I  made,  but  what  I  loved, 
Grow  early  old  with  grief  that  thou 

Must  to  the  wastes  of  Nature  go, 

'Tis  because  a  general  hope 

Was  quenched,  and  all  must  doubt  and  grope. 

For  flattering  planets  seemed  to  say 

This  child  should  ills  of  ages  stay, 

By  wondrous  tongue,  and  guided  pen, 

Bring  the  flown  Muses  back  to  men. 

Perchance  not  he  but  Nature  ailed, 

The  world  and  not  the  infant  failed. 

It  was  not  ripe  yet  to  sustain 

A  genius  of  so  fine  a  strain, 


THRENODY.  243 


Who  gazed  upon  the  sun  and  moon 
As  if  he  came  unto  his  own, 
Arid,  pregnant  with  his  grander  thought, 
Brought  the  old  order  into  doubt. 
His  beauty  once  their  beauty  tried; 
They  could  not  feed  him,  and  he  died, 
And  wandered  backward  as  in  scorn, 
To  wait  an  ceon  to  be  born. 
Ill  day  which  made  this  beauty  waste, 
Plight  broken,  this  high  face  defaced! 
Some  went  and  came  about  the  dead  ; 
And  some  in  books  of  solace  read ; 

Some  to  their  friends  the  tidings  say ; 

Some  went  to  write,  some  went  to  pray; 

One  tarried  here,  there  hurried  one  ; 

But  their  heart  abode  with  none. 

Covetous  death  bereaved  us  all, 

To  aggrandize  one  funeral. 

The  eager  fate  which  carried  thee 

Took  the  largest  part  of  me : 

For  this  losing  is  true  dying  ; 

This  is  lordly  man's  down-lying, 


244  THRENODY. 

This  his  slow  but  sure  reclining, 
Star  by  star  his  world  resigning. 

0  child  of  paradise, 

Boy  who  made  dear  his  father's  home, 

In  whose  deep  eyes 

Men  read  the  welfare  of  the  times  to  come, 

1  am  too  much  bereft. 

The  world  dishonored  thou  hast  left. 
O  truth's  and  nature's  costly  lie  ! 
O  trusted  broken  prophecy  ! 
O  richest  fortune  sourly  crossed ! 
Born  for  the  future,  to  the  future  lost! 


THE  deep  Heart  answered,  '  Weepest  thou  ? 

Worthier  cause  for  passion  wild 

If  I  had  not  taken  the  child. 

And  deemest  thou  as  those  who  pore, 

With  aged  eyes,  short  way  before,  — 

Think'st  Beauty  vanished  from  the  coast 

Of  matter,  and  thy  darling  lost? 


THRENODY.  245 

Taught  he  not  thee  —  the  man  of  eld, 
Whose  eyes  within  his  eyes  beheld 
Heaven's  numerous  hierarchy  span 
The  mystic  gulf  from  God  to  man  1 
To  be  alone  wilt  thou  begin 
When  worlds  of  lovers  hem  thee  in  ? 
To-morrow,  when  the  masks  shall  fall 
That  dizen  Nature's  carnival, 
The  pure  shall  see  by  their  own  will, 
Which  overflowing  Love  shall  fill, 
'Tis  not  within  the  force  of  fate 
The  fate-conjoined  to  separate. 
But  thou,  iny  votary,  weepest  thou? 
I  gave  thee  sight  —  where  is  it  now? 
I  taught  thy  heart  beyond  the  reach 
Of  ritual,  bible,  or  of  speech ; 
Wrote  in  thy  mind's  transparent  table, 
As  far  as  the  incommunicable ; 
Taught  thee  each  private  sign  to  raise, 
Lit  by  the  supersolar  blaze. 
Past  utterance,  and  past  belief, 
And  past  the  blasphemy  of  grief, 


24G  THRENODY. 

The  mysteries  of  Nature's  heart  ; 
And  though  no  Muse  can  these  impart, 
Throb  thine  with  Nature's  throbbing  breast, 
And  all  is  clear  from  east  to  west, 

'  I  came  to  thee  as  to  a  friend  ; 
Dearest,  to  thee  I  did  not  send 
Tutors,  but  a  joyful  eye, 
Innocence  that  matched  the  sky, 
Lovely  locks,  a  form  of  wonder, 
Laughter  rich  as  woodland  thunder, 
That  them  might'st  entertain  apart 
The  richest  flowering  of  all  art : 
And,  as  the  great  all-loving  Day 
Through  smallest  chambers  takes  its  way, 
That  thou  might'st  break  thy  daily  bread 
With  prophet,   savior,   and  head  ; 
That  thou  might'st  cherish  for  thine  own 
The  riches  of  sweet  Mary's  Son, 
Boy-Rabbi,  Israel's  paragon. 
And  thoughtest  thou  such  guest 
Would  in  thy  hall  take  up  his  rest? 


THRENODY.  247 


Would  rushing  life  forget  her  laws, 
Fate's  glowing  revolution  pause? 
High  omens  ask  diviner  guess; 
Not  to  be  conned  to  tediousness. 
And  know  my  higher  gifts  unbind 
The  zone  that  girds  the  incarnate  mind. 
When  the  scanty  shores  are  full 
With  Thought's  perilous,  whirling  pool ; 
When  frail  Nature  can  no  more, 
Then  the  Spirit  strikes  the  hour  : 
My  servant  Death,  with  solving  rite, 
Pours  finite  into  infinite. 

'  Wilt  thou  freeze  love's  tidal  flow, 

Whose  streams  through  nature  circling  go? 

Nail  the  wild  star  to  its  track 

On  the  half-climbed  zodiac? 

Light  is  light  which  radiates, 

Blood  is  blood  which  circulates, 

Life  is  life  which  generates, 

And  many-seeming  life  is  one, — 

Wilt  thou  transfix  and  make  it  none? 


248 


THRENODY. 


Its  onward  force  too  starkly  pent 
In  figure,  bone,  and  lineament? 
Wilt  thou,  uncalled,  interrogate, 
Talker!  the  unreplying  Fate? 
Nor  see  the  genius  of  the  whole 
Ascendant  in  the  private  soul, 

Beckon  it  when  to  go  and  come, 

Self-announced  its  hour  of  doom  ? 

Fair  the  soul's  recess  and  shrine, 

Magic-built  to  last  a  season ; 

Masterpiece  of  love  benign  , 

Fairer  that  expansive  reason 

Whose  omen  'tis,  and  sign. 

Wilt  thou  not  ope  thy  heart  to  know 

What  rainbows  teach,  and  sunsets  show? 

Verdict  which  accumulates 

From  lengthening  scroll  of  human  fates, 

Voice  of  earth  to  earth  returned, 

Prayers  of  saints  that  inly  burned,  — 

Saying,    What  is  excellent, 
As  God  lives,  is  permanent ; 


THRENODY. 

Hearts  are  dust,  hearts'  loves  remain; 
Heart's  love  will  meet  thee  again. 
Revere  the  Maker;  fetch  thine  eye 
Up  to  his  style,  and  manners  of  the  sky. 
Not  of  adamant  and  gold 
Built  he  heaven  stark  and  cold; 
No,  but  a  nest  of  bending  reeds, 
Flowering  grass,  and  scented  weeds ; 
Or  like  a  traveller's  fleeing  tent, 
Or  bow  above  the  tempest  bent; 
Built  of  tears  and  sacred  flames, 
And  virtue  reaching  to  its  aims; 
Built  of  furtherance  and  pursuing, 
Not  of  spent  deeds,  but  of  doing. 
Silent  rushes  the  swift  Lord 
Through  ruined  systems  still  restored, 
Broadsowing,  bleak  and  void  to  bless, 
Plants  with  worlds  the  wilderness; 
Waters  with  tears  of  ancient  sorrow 
Apples  of  Eden  ripe  to-morrow. 
House  and  tenant  go  to  ground, 
Lost  in  God,  in  Godhead  found.' 


249 


250 


HYMN: 

SUNG  AT  THE    COMPLETION  OF    THE  CONCORD  MONUMEN1 

April  19,  1836. 


BY  the  rude  bridge  that  arched  the  flood, 
Their  flag  to  April's  breeze  unfurled, 

Here  once  the  embattled  farmers  stood, 

And  fired  the  shot  heard  round  the  world. 

The  foe  long  since  in  silence  slept ; 

Alike  the  conqueror  silent  sleeps; 
And  Time  the  ruined  bridge  has  swept 

Down  the  dark  stream  which  seaward  creeps. 

On  this  green  bank,  by  this  soft  stream, 

We  set  to-day  a  votive  stone; 
That  memory  may  their  deed  redeem, 

When,  like  our  sires,  our  sons  are  gone. 


HYMN. 

Spirit,  that  made  those  heroes  dare 
To  die,  or  leave  their  children  free, 

Bid  Time  arid  Nature  gently  spare 

The  shaft  we  raise  to  them  and  thee. 


251 


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